


Bree Games

by claudia603



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Prostitute, Crack, Interspecies, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-02
Updated: 2010-02-02
Packaged: 2017-10-06 23:43:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claudia603/pseuds/claudia603
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are some roads Frodo should never have taken...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bree Games

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably my ultimate in Frodo filth. Prostitution, graphic sex, other crimes to Tolkien. I'm RILLY going to Tolkien Hell for this one.
> 
>  
> 
> There's no serious warnings aside from there IS: prostitution, graphic sex, one near-non-con episode (hence the archive warning for non-con)...so be aware that those things might come up. But this is total crack!fic!

Frodo did not know what had gotten into him the first time he sold himself for coins in Bree.  He only knew now that he was in quite a fix because the good villagers of Bree were fed up with the whores and ruffians and other ill-reputed folk. They had actually commissioned the hated and distrusted Rangers to help them by posing as ruffians willing to rob old women and folk willing to pay for a night of pleasure. Frodo had unknowingly propositioned a

Ranger by the name of Strider, and now he was in this

Ranger's custody awaiting trial.

 

Strider had asked him how a decent gentlehobbit from the quiet Shire had gotten himself into such an embarrassing position.  Frodo would not talk to Strider, but he privately blamed Bilbo.  Frodo had originally gone to Bree in hopes of finding information about Bilbo since Gandalf had been rather secretive about it.

 

Frodo had been sitting in old Butterbur's inn, sipping ale and feeling small and uncomfortable, when a Man sat beside him. Frodo found that odd because the Men and Hobbits of

Bree kept to their own kinds.  There weren't many Hobbits in Bree, and there were actually only about three in Butterbur's inn that evening. They had not invited Frodo to sit with them, and Frodo thought it was most uncouth of them, a sure sign that hobbits of the Shire were much more refined.

 

"You from the Shire?" the Man asked.  Frodo bristled.  He hated it when people could perceive that he was out of place.

 

"No," he said sullenly.

 

"Could have fooled me." He touched Frodo's cheek. "You're a pretty little thing."

 

Frodo inched away, feeling trapped. Bilbo had warned him of strange dangers in the world Outside, but Frodo had never dreamed of this. "Please leave me be."

 

"You sure?" A large hand slid over Frodo's bottom, making the hobbit squirm.  "I've got a room upstairs.  We could have some fun. I'd pay you a pretty price."

 

Frodo gave him as disgusted a look as possible. "No thank you."  He could not believe that man had just treated him like a common whore! Frodo swallowed in revulsion. "Please leave me alone."

 

"Have it yer way then," the Man said with a chuckle, moving away.  "But if you change your mind, I'll be around."

 

It was getting late, and Frodo decided he should ask

Butterbur about settling into one of the hobbit rooms.  He reached in his breeches for his coins and found none.  His hand froze.

 

The Man had no doubt robbed him while feeling his bottom!

Frodo swallowed with rage.  Well, now he had no way to pay for his ale and the huge meal he had consumed. He had already seen one Man get turned over to the lawmen this evening. He didn't want to be the next victim. He hated to do it, but the only thing he could do was slip out as quietly as possible and find a place outdoors to sleep. 

When he got home, he could send Butterbur the money. He was an honest hobbit, after all.

 

Heart thudding, he slipped along the wall, headed for the door.  Just as he was nearly out the door, Butterbur blocked his way.

 

"Hoy, there, Halfling. Aren't you forgetting something."

 

If Butterbur hadn't been so fat, Frodo might have been able to slip past him, but as it was, he had no choice but to face up to what had happened.  He began to tremble. He had never been in so helpless a position before.

 

"I am sorry," Frodo said, his eyes filling with quick tears. "I have been robbed. A Man, he came to me—“

 

"You have no intention of paying me for my ale?"

Butterbur's voice was fierce as he gripped Frodo's arm. 

Frodo covered his face with his hands. He could not bear looking into the innkeeper's face. Nothing like this had ever happened to him.

 

"Now, now," Butterbur said, his voice softening. "You know

I don't like to do this, not to a rare visitor from the

Shire…here now, don't shake so…I'm not going to hurt you."

Butterbur led Frodo to a bench and sat beside him, keeping a firm arm around him, tugging gently but unsuccessfully at Frodo's hands that covered his face.

 

Frodo was truly frightened.  He didn't know what would happen if Butterbur called the lawmen in for him.  He had never seen a jail before, and he could only imagine how cold and damp and full of miserable, hard criminals it would be. And nobody from home knew where he had gone. He had told Sam he was visiting at Brandy Hall.

 

"I don't know what to do," Frodo said, his voice cracking.

He furiously wiped a few tears away before covering his face again in embarrassment. He was a gentlehobbit, come of age, and there was no excuse to weep in public, especially not in front of Men, who saw such expression of emotion as a weakness.  "He took all I had. I can't go to jail, Mr.

Butterbur, it will kill me."

 

Frodo hadn't meant it literally, but Butterbur didn't know enough about hobbits to understand that. The innkeeper rubbed Frodo's back in a soothing manner. "There now, I can't in good conscience do something that would kill you. Stop shaking, Halfling.  I'm not an ogre, and I'm not going to call the lawmen.  What you can do is work for me…wash cutlery, sweep the floor, take orders. You can sleep in one of the bottom rooms.  I'll pay you half a coin a day. When you make up your bill, which was eight coins, then you are free to go. Understand?"

 

Frodo nodded, relieved to have been let off the hook so easily. He dropped the hands from his face and smiled up at Butterbur through his tears.  "Thank you, sir.  Thank you kindly."

 

***

 

Working for Butterbur was much harder than Frodo had imagined.  The dish water scalded his hands, and the customers were often rude.  Some grabbed him or pinched his bottom.  A drunk Man pushed him to the ground while he was carrying a tray of ale.  Butterbur had not been happy with the broken cutlery and spill that had resulted, and Frodo had cut his hand while cleaning it up. 

 

By the fourth night, he was stumbling with exhaustion. He had worked since the sun rose that morning, and now it was close to midnight.  He could not accuse Butterbur of being particularly cruel to him, since the fat innkeeper worked just as many hours as he did.  But Frodo was not accustomed to such hard labor, and as he carried another tray, heavy with bowls of soup and ale, his feet stumbled, and the tray slipped from his hands.  Frodo watched through blurred eyes as soup filled with chunks of mushrooms and chicken trickled through the floorboards.  The Men in the vicinity laughed cruelly.  All Frodo could think about was that he had to clean it up.

 

Butterbur lost patience and grabbed his arm, yanking him around to face him.  His normally kindly face was red with anger.  "That has just been added to your debt."

 

"I'm sorry," Frodo whispered.  His stomach sank.  He would never pay him off now. Never. 

 

"Clean it up." Butterbur shoved a sopping mop in his hand and stomped off.  Frodo's throat filled. Butterbur was not usually so short with him.

 

At the corner of his eye, he caught view of the Man who had stolen his coins sitting in the back of the tavern. Frodo felt a fury spread over his chest. Without staying to pick up the pieces, he stalked across the room until he was standing eye to eye with the Man, breathing in quick enraged gasps.  The Man, sitting on a wooden chair, his legs spread out, chuckled and grasped Frodo around the waist, pulling the hobbit toward him.

 

"You stole my coins!" Frodo pointed in the Man's face, not caring about the consequences. The Man could break his neck with his bare hands if he wished.  "Give them back to me!"

 

The Man laughed uproariously.  He apparently found it amusing to be holding an enraged halfling around the waist.

 

"Would you like to earn them back?" the Man asked with a sardonic grin.

 

"What?" Frodo asked, flushing. "What are you talking about?"

 

"Do you remember what I proposed the last time we met?" The

Man winked and let one of his hands slide to Frodo's bottom again.  Frodo flinched, but between his rage and his exhaustion, he felt a strange warmth spread between his legs.

 

"I'll have Butterbur call in the lawmen," he said, shifting his legs uncomfortably, hoping the Man would not catch sight of the growing bulge in his breeches. "They will get my coins back from you. You're nothing but a thief!"

 

The Man squeezed Frodo's bottom.  "I believe that you are the thief, halfling.  So, I ask you again. Would you like to earn the coins back?  I'll pay you two coins for a night."

 

"That's all?" Frodo said in a gasp, using any ploy to keep the Man from looking down at his breeches, but as soon as he spoke, the Man's grin faded, and Frodo swallowed, thinking perhaps he had overstepped his bounds.

 

"You think you are worth more than two coins, halfling?"

 

"But I've never…” Frodo began to tremble all over. He could not understand why the Man's stroking of his bottom was making him so hard.  Fear and exhaustion, perhaps.  "I've never done as you've suggested." He cast his eyes down, blushing furiously.

 

"Never?" The firm arm curled around Frodo's waist, pulling him even closer, forcing Frodo to look into the muddy eyes of the Man.  "Never done this? I find that difficult to believe. What a waste, I say.  There is but one way to find out.  Tell you what, Halfling." His voice dropped. Frodo saw a growing bulge in the Man's groin. "I'll take you up for a tumble in the bed.  If what you say is true, then I will pay you three coins. Three coins, Halfling.  That is six days of work for Butterbur.  What say you to that?"

 

Frodo thought about the cutlery that he would need to clean, the floors to scrub, and all this still before he went to bed. 

 

The Man's hand slid under Frodo's shirt, snaking up to rub over his nipples. Frodo gasped, having never felt such pleasurable sensations. "When your work is done, come to the first room to the left at the top of the first flight of stairs."

 

The rest of the evening went by in a blur.

 

"You look right exhausted," Butterbur said, patting Frodo's shoulder at the end of the day. "Go ahead and sleep a little later tomorrow. You need not come in until noon.  I am not a slave driver and will not see you ill from hard labor."

 

Frodo nodded. "Thank you," he said softly.  He glanced toward the stairs, and something stirred in his groin again.

 

***

 

Frodo knocked on the first door on the left side at the top of the stairs.  He could not believe how excited he had become.  He was far from tired.  His skin tingled, and he shivered, though he was not cold.  Most pleasant of all, his groin throbbed as the memory of the Man's hand tweaking his nipple surged through him.  His face felt flushed, feverish.

 

The door creaked open, and he was beckoned inside by a hulking figure that sat on the edge of the bed, his legs spread out as they had been in the tavern.  The Man smiled wolfishly at Frodo, and this time he stared at Frodo's hardness in open appreciation.

 

"Take your clothes off," he growled.

 

"What's your name?" Frodo asked as he unbuttoned his vest with trembling fingers.  Never would he have thought he could do such a thing. He remembered many a whispered conversation at the Green Dragon about lasses from bad families who had run off to Bree to become whores, never to be heard from again. It had sounded like such a horrid life, the worst that could happen to a respectable hobbit.

 

"My name's not important," the Man said with a dangerous smile. "And it's not your place to ask questions." 

 

Frodo flung his vest on the floor and began to unbutton his shirt. He unclipped his braces, and his breeches fell around his ankles.

 

"Look at you, you're as hard as a rock," the Man said with a slow chuckle.  "I think you may have lied to me about this being your first time, but no matter."

 

"It is,” Frodo said, stepping out of his breeches and peeling off his shirt, balling it up and throwing it in the pile.

 

"Then at least you're clean," the Man said.  "Come here."

 

Frodo walked cautiously to him.  He surged with such excitement that he barely felt it as the Man gripped his upper arms and roughly swung him onto the bed. He gasped in delight when his hardness pressed up against hot skin.

 

"What shall I do?" he asked.

 

The Man leaned over him, pinning Frodo's arms to the bed, staring into him. "I want to be inside your tight heat, halfling, but first I want to watch you writhe a bit."

 

Frodo looked at him in confusion.

 

The Man's rough hands clamped around Frodo's quivering, hardened member, emitting a harsh gasp from Frodo.  Frodo thrust up into his grip, feeling dizzy with wanting, unaware of anything else.  The inn could be on fire, but he would be unable to move until this itch was taken care of.

 

"You like it dirty and hard, don't you?" The Man said through clenched teeth, squeezing harder, clearly satisfied by the unadulterated pleasure on Frodo's flushed face.

 

"Yes!" Frodo gasped.  "Yes!"

 

With an unbearable surge, like a crushing hot waterfall, he burst with a final thrust at the Man's tight grip.  Though his member became flaccid, he continued to throb, gasping for breaths, and the Man released him and rubbed his sticky wet hands together.  Suddenly, a cold sticky finger probed the cleft of Frodo's bottom, causing Frodo to gasp and flinch.

 

"No," he gasped.

 

"Shhhh!" The Man stuck his grubby finger inside, probing and twisting.  His probing grew more insistent, and Frodo felt more pleasurable heat spread over him. If this was how it was, then why did not more hobbits come to Bree to make their fortune?  There was no dishonor in something that made people so happy! Something inside him knew this was not fully true, but now he did not care. He was riding a wave that he never wanted to end.

 

"Come on, loosen up, halfling.  I need you bigger than this to fit inside." The Man's hands yanked Frodo's cheeks wider and another finger was jammed inside.  "Oh, my," the Man said with an amused chuckle. "This really is your first time." He leaned down and captured the delicate skin on Frodo's neck with his teeth, nipping gently.  His tongue sought out Frodo's neck, ran along his jaw.  "So sweet and fresh, you dirty little thing."

 

A scorching pain filled Frodo then, and he gasped, staring at the ceiling. What had he gotten himself into? This didn't feel good at all. It hurt badly. He squirmed in the Man's grip, but to no avail.

 

"No, get out," he cried, hitting the Man's muscled arms.

"Please, it hurts!"  He could barely breathe with the Man's full weight on him.

 

"Shhh," the Man said, kissing Frodo's full lips.  "Remember the coins, halfling.  You like it like this, remember? 

Quick and dirty, whore." A quick bite on Frodo's ear made him jump, and the movement sent a reverberation of intense hot prickling down his member. The engorged hardness began to fill him instead of tearing him and stretching him beyond belief, and it became like a globe of pleasure, bobbing inside him, seeking pin prickles of bliss.

 

"Oh," he breathed, and ceased his struggling. He never wanted it to end.  "Yes, yes, yes!" he gasped in rhythm to the Man's thrusts.

 

"I want to feel your filthy hairy feet on me. Rub them up my legs, halfling."

 

Frodo could barely breathe, much less move, but somehow he moved his legs up and down the Man's own rather hairy legs.

Suddenly it was over with an explosion of heat and more wet stickiness.  Frodo's muscles went limp, and he wanted to lie in languid, sticky peace in the arms of the one who had awakened such new and amazing sensations inside his body, but instead the Man jumped out of bed and pulled his breeches on. He grinned at Frodo in hard amusement.

 

"You're one of a kind, halfling.  One of a kind.  I ain't cleaning you up, though, and if you bleed on my sheets,

I'll hurt you, so you better get up and get dressed."

 

Frodo rolled off the bed, dizzy and spent.  His inner thighs and bottom hurt dreadfully and he couldn't imagine how sore he'd be in the morning. He reached cautiously with trembling finger in between his thigh and his finger came away with some blood.  He shivered pleasurably, thinking he'd clean himself up in his own room later.  After he was dressed, the Man handed him three coins.  Frodo looked at them in dazed shock. He had just been given coins for doing something he would do again in a heartbeat. 

 

"I can't afford this every night," the Man said, shaking his head. "But I'll tell my friends about you." He winked, shuttling Frodo out the door of his room.

 

 

***

 

Frodo was horribly, dreadfully sore.  When he walked, it felt like cruel knives were jabbing into his bottom.  Well, pleasurable experience or not, that was the last time he would allow anyone to enter him in such a brutal way.  Not if he was going to feel like this the next day.

 

Behind the bar, Frodo loaded a tray with a bin of bread and three ales. A heavy hand fell on his shoulder, and he jumped.  Butterbur hovered over him, looking concerned. 

"Are you hurt, halfling?"

 

Frodo shook his head.  "No.  No, not really. Well, just a little sore." He fumbled to think of an excuse for it.  "Yesterday, a man knocked me to the ground, and I am a little bruised." With alarm, Frodo wondered if Butterbur would take it upon himself to examine him.  He added hastily.  "That is all; it is nothing."

 

"I see," Butterbur said, pursing his lips in annoyance. 

"Would that my customers behaved more civilized like.  I'll keep you mostly in the back with the cutlery. No sense getting you hurt like that."

 

"No, no, it is all right," Frodo said, dismayed. Washing cutlery was much worse than waiting on customers, who might end up being as interesting as the Man last night. "I like visiting with the folk of Bree. So different from the Shire and all."

 

Butterbur nodded. "You be careful then." He scowled as he wiped a wet cloth over the counter.  "There's been some rough folk as of late—whores and thieves. I'd argue to keep you in the back more, but I need the help."

 

"Why can you not hire real help?" Frodo asked.

 

Butterbur let out a tired chuckle. "Frodo, this inn is in trouble.  I can barely afford to pay myself, much less someone else. I had a hobbit assistant like yourself but I had to let him go just last month." He wiped his brow and shook it, looking sad.

 

"I see," Frodo said.

 

"Well, we should both get back to work." Butterbur nodded toward the back of the tavern.  "There's some fellows placing coin bets on a card game in the back.  They'd sure like some ale.  If they're playing a fine game, they'll order all night and that will do us both good. Why don't you go take care of them?"

 

"That I will," Frodo said.

 

He limped to the back of the tavern.  A group of five men hovered over a game, intent on it.

 

"Excuse me," Frodo said. "Would any of you like an ale?"

 

The men looked startled to see him, and Frodo warranted that they were not from Bree at all and were unaccustomed to seeing hobbits.

 

"Oh, one of them halfling folk," one of the Men said, squeezing Frodo's arm.

 

"Leave him be," another at the table said. He smiled at Frodo.  "And yes, I would like an ale.  In fact, what's your name, little one?"

 

"Frodo," Frodo said, swallowing, wildly attracted by the Man's green eyes.  He imagined the Man thrusting against him just as the three-coin Man had last night.

 

"Frodo." The Man nodded dramatically with a small smile. 

"Bring us all ales. I am buying the first round."

 

"Ah, Vik's being generous for once," one of his friends laughed.

 

"For once?" Vik laughed, and Frodo liked the richness of it.  His hand gripping his cards looked masterful yet controlled.  "I'd watch your tongue if I were you."

 

Frodo ducked away, flinching at the pain in his bottom. 

Why was he thinking such thoughts about Vik?  Well, they wouldn't have to do everything like he had done the night before. Vik seemed a decent enough fellow. He might agree to a lesser price for less action.  Frodo smiled privately as he loaded the ale onto the tray. As almost an afterthought, he took off his vest and threw it behind the counter.  He unbuttoned his shirt just enough so that if a

Man so chose, he could catch sight of a pink nipple on a smooth, pale chest.

 

Now if he could manage to bring the men their ales without dropping the tray.

 

When he reached the table, his heart dropped and then began to pound fast.  The Man who had paid him three coins for his service last night was now sitting at the table with the card players. He was whispering in Vik's ear and they were both looking in Frodo's direction with grins on their faces. Frodo flushed as he passed around the ales.

 

"Frodo," Vik said quietly in his ear when he reached his side of the table. "I wonder if you might be able to show me to the privy."

 

Frodo pointed to a back door. "It's away out that door and—

"

 

"No, no," Vik said, clearing his throat.  "Personally."  He glanced at Frodo's chest, and Frodo's cheeks grew warm.  He had not even had to make an effort.

 

"Yes." He placed the tray on an empty table and led Vik out of the Common Room into a dark corridor.  Vik clasped his arm firmly but not painfully.  He whispered, "I am not certain what to ask of you, I only know that I am much intrigued by you and Falon says you are…that you are trying to pay off a debt to the landlord here."

 

Frodo breathed quickly and leaned against the wall, looking up at Vik.  "That is all true, and Falon…I enjoyed being with him immensely, but I wonder…you seem like a kind man and, well, I am very sore from--"

 

Vik laughed, but it was a kind laugh, and Frodo found himself smiling with him.  "I have no doubt you are sore.  No, I would not ask that of you."

 

"But I would ask but a coin for anything else…" Frodo glanced toward the Common Room.  "Keeping in mind that I am expected back soon."

 

"Fair enough," Vik said.  "I've never done this sort of thing myself." He handed Frodo a coin, and Frodo put it in his pocket.  "I want to watch you pleasure yourself."

 

Frodo looked at Vik in uncertainly.  "Pleasure myself?"

 

"Yes.  That is all." Vik swallowed, looking abashed.  "For now.  I will be in Bree for a few weeks."

 

Frodo let his breeches fall to his ankles again, but this time he did not step out of them.  Vik dropped to his knees in front of Frodo and kept his hands loosely on Frodo's bare hips.  He looked down intently as Frodo clasped his member which quickly hardened under his own touch.  "Are you sure this is all you desire?"

 

Vik nodded.  "Please…continue."

 

Frodo stroked himself, leaning against the wall. He stared at the ceiling, panting in desire as he sagged into Vik's grip.  His face heated, flushing with painful heat, and he groaned, rubbing his hips desperately against Vik's

calloused hands until with a final gasp, he climaxed into his own hands.  He shuddered, sliding down the wall until he was seated.

 

Vik cupped Frodo's warm cheeks and kissed him firmly once on the lips.  "Thank you, Frodo." He climbed to his feet.

 

"Are you certain?" Frodo asked.  "A whole coin for only that?"

 

Vik grinned.  "I am the captain of lawmen in my village of

Thrushwood.  I am not hurting for coins." He noticed the worried expression on Frodo's face and laughed. "Do not fear. I will not tell the local law about you. You are far too intriguing for that."

 

"Thank you," Frodo whispered. 

 

Vik helped Frodo to his feet before leaving him to go back into the Common Room.

 

***

 

Frodo was cleaning behind the counter the next evening. 

His bottom was much less sore, though it still hurt to sit or move sharply.  A lass entered the inn, and she caught

Frodo's eye because the inn seemed to be a place frequented almost entirely by Men (and occasional hobbits). The girl looked around the room, assessing, taking in the scene with her keen eyes.  Frodo had never seen a girl with her face painted before, and he found himself staring.  He wondered if she, too, worked for coins, and thought it likely.

 

One of Bree's lawmen had come in just a few minutes earlier, stepping in for a break on his patrols.  When he had entered, Frodo had made certain that his shirt was buttoned all the way. No sense in getting into worse trouble than he already was.

 

"There's one of them whores now," Frodo overheard Butterbur say in disgust to the lawman.  "I can't seem to keep them out of here.  I get rid of one and another takes her place.

And." His voice dropped. "It's not just the lasses. A few good looking lads, usually slender-like, have been doing the same type of thing.  What's this village come to, that's what I'd like to know? Was a time when things were proper and nice here."

 

Frodo could not understand the fuss.  The lass probably enjoyed doing what she did, just as Frodo had the last two nights.  Why was it considered such a lawless action?

 

"Do you wish us to arrest the whore?" the lawman asked in a bored voice.

 

"What's the point?  There's no proof she's doing anything now. And they know all you fellows so it's nigh impossible for you to pretend to want service and then arrest them. And what? They get one night in jail. Hardly enough to make an impression, I'd say."

 

Frodo scuttled off at that point, unable to listen to more. 

Butterbur thought kindly of him now, and he could not bear to think about what Butterbur would do or think if he knew what his hobbit servant had been up to the last few days.

 

An arm grabbed him, causing him to gasp. "Hoy, halfling."

 

Frodo looked up into a large Man with mean dark eyes. His hair was unkempt, and he smelled bad, as if he had gone months with no bath.

 

"Oh, I am sorry if I ran into you. I'm afraid I'm not watching where I'm—"

 

"You are available for coins?"

 

Frodo's stomach sank. He did not want to lie with a fellow like this.  This man did not have Vik's kindness or even

Falon's willingness to gently initiate. He looked rude and rough, and Frodo was not sure he was ready to handle a Man like that. "Yes…well…normally, yes, but perhaps not this evening."

 

Fingers dug into his arm, cruelly clamping, and they hurt.

"Since when do you harlots get to decide when and with whom?" He shook Frodo a little. "See that lawman over there? I can easily turn you in. I know all about you.

You're not from around here, and they'll let you rot in jail." He let out a harsh laugh.  "I'm just asking for a few minutes.  Surely the landlord can spare ya?"

 

Frodo shook all over, but he was stuck.  If he refused, this man would turn him into the law, and he had no doubt that if Butterbur knew the truth, he would let him be taken.  "All right.  But I can't…I'm very sore," he whispered miserably.

 

"I don't want to bang you, if that's what you think.  Yer probably crawling with disease despite your pretty face." 

 

The Man led Frodo out of the Common Room, and into a parlor just off the corridor from the Common Room.  There was no bed, just a table and chair, harsh wooden floors, and a dark unlit fireplace.

 

The Man plopped on the chair, pulling Frodo to him. "I'll give you a coin to do all but that final thing."

 

Frodo swallowed.  A coin was far too little to endure this disgusting Man. If only it was Vik again.  He would do anything with Vik, even risk hurt to himself by allowing him that final act. 

 

He kept his eyes down.  "Falon paid me three."

 

A sudden blow to his cheek knocked him to the floor on his backside.  Frodo looked up through tearing eyes.  Nobody had ever hit him before. If this Man decided to seriously beat him, nobody would hear his cries for help.

 

The Man deliberately stood up, grabbed Frodo by the front of his shirt, and yanked him back to his feet.  He then kneeled in front of Frodo so that they were eye to eye. 

"One coin. Understood?" 

 

Frodo nodded, his ears ringing. He trembled with shock that not everyone was kind like Vik or tolerant of hobbit

pertness like Falon.  The Man handed him a dirty coin.

 

"Now you're mine."  The filthy Man greedily unbuttoned

Frodo's shirt, luckily not ripping the buttons off. He slid a heavy arm around Frodo's waist and pulled him to him, clamping his foul-smelling mouth over Frodo's and kissing with angry violence.  Frodo gagged, gasping for breath. 

The Man bit Frodo hard on the neck, and Frodo muffled a cry of pain.  This was utterly repulsive, and now he wished he had refused.  Surely Butterbur would have believed him over this scoundrel. 

 

The Man wrenched Frodo's hands together and forced them down his breeches.  Frodo was now blindly grasping for a thickening member that was huge and clammy. The Man groaned loudly and released Frodo's waist long enough to pull his breeches down.  He then yanked Frodo's down.

 

"You're not hard," he said in a snarl.

 

Frodo swallowed, feeling cold and frightened and not at all pleasured. He should have thrown the coin back at him and bolted, but now it was too late.  "I'm sorry, I'm—"

 

"No matter." The Man moved back from Frodo and settled on his back, his hardness poking straight up, unbelievably huge. Frodo breathed a sigh of relief that the Man didn't want to be inside him.  He doubted this Man would be gentle.  "Lick me."

 

The idea of that Man inside his mouth made him gag even more, but he swallowed in determination. His cheek throbbed where he had been struck earlier. If he didn't cooperate, he might get beaten or even killed.  Or worse. The Man would change his mind and take him harshly and with no mercy.

 

For seemingly hours, though it was probably in reality just a few minutes, Frodo squeezed his eyes shut and took the

Man in his mouth. The Man thrust into his mouth until he was sure he would choke and he knew the back of his mouth would be bruised.  Then suddenly Frodo was on his back with the huge Man on top of him, and the Man's hardness was grinding against his cleft, though thankfully not penetrating.  The Man clamped Frodo's arms so tightly that

Frodo could no longer feel them. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping the Man would expend himself soon. 

 

After an interminably long time, the Man finally shuddered, groaning, and a mass of warmth soaked Frodo's belly.

 

Frodo wanted to beg the now limp Man to move because he could barely breathe, but he did not dare. Finally the Man lifted himself up, climbing shakily to his feet.  Frodo could not move just yet. He was trying to catch his breath. 

 

Without warning, the Man's bare foot slammed into Frodo's side, and Frodo yelped in shocked pain, grabbing his side.

 

"That was for not getting hard for me, you little rat." The

Man stomped away from him to find his breeches.  "I've half a mind to steal my coin back from you. But I might want you again, so I won't. Next time you better be ready for me or

I'll beat you within an inch of your life."

 

Frodo curled on the floor, afraid to move or respond.  He had been wrong.  This was not fun or easy. He had been lucky with Vik and before that, Falon, neither of whom had wished him harm. But he warranted that most Men who would take pleasure from him were more like this fellow, violent and mean, more likely to use their fists than their heads.

He released a shuddering breath. How could he have allowed himself into this mess?  He had just been lucky that this

Man had not wanted him in the way Falon had taken him.  If he had, Frodo thought he might be dead now.

 

After he left, Frodo dressed, shaking wildly, barely able to breathe for the pain in his side. Once dressed, he limped to a full-length mirror and stared.  The side of his face was swelling, and blood had smeared over his lip.  How was he going to explain this to Butterbur?

 

***

Frodo stumbled into the Common Room and made his way directly to the bar, behind which Butterbur was standing, still talking to the lawman. Frodo's ears rang, and every step was agony in his side, in his bottom again, and his face.

 

"Oh…oh, no!" Butterbur exclaimed when he saw him.  "What happened? Oh, who did this?"

 

Frodo could not think of anything to say so he covered his face and sank to the floor behind the counter so that none of the customers could see him.  He did not weep, for his eyes were utterly dry.  "I'm sorry," he said several times, though he was not sure why he was apologizing.

 

"Oh, no," Butterbur said, kneeling down beside him, trying to get a better look at the hobbit's face. The lawman peered over the counter in curiosity. "I can't with good conscience have you working out on the floor if this is going to happen." He clasped Frodo's arms, and Frodo cried out in pain.

 

A determined look on his fat face, Butterbur, pulled Frodo's left sleeve up.  He clicked his teeth in dismay when he saw the angry bruising in the shape of fingerprints on Frodo's upper arms.

 

"What is the matter?" the lawman asked. "Is he all right?"

 

"It appears he has been beaten," Butterbur said.  "Come now, Frodo, let me take you back to your room. I'll get you set up with some ice on that welt on your face. What nasty brute did this?"

 

"No, no," Frodo said, looking up at the innkeeper in sudden fury. "Don't be kind to me. I don't deserve it."

 

"There now," Butterbur said, clearly confused by Frodo's outburst. "You're hurt and upset, but I've got to get back to work, so--"

 

"Could I assist?"  The lawman looked kindly, like Vik, and

Frodo scrunched his eyes shut, picturing the man's eyes changing to cold rocks when he found out what Frodo had done. "I could accompany him back to his room."

 

"No, no," Frodo said, shaking Butterbur's hand off his arm.

"I am all right. I will go right back to work."

 

"Would you not point out the brute who struck you?" the lawman asked, shaking his head in disgust. "I find it utterly repulsive, how anyone can hit on someone half their size like that."

 

"No, no," Frodo said, swallowing in frantic nervousness.

"He is gone. Please…let me be. I will be all right."

 

Butterbur nodded. "If you are all right, there are plenty of folk out on the floor that need refreshing. But if someone beats on you, you holler next time, you hear? I'll not stand for that."

 

Frodo nodded.

 

"Thank you," he whispered before walking back into the crowd.  When men caught sight of his swollen face, he averted his eyes. Most were kind enough not to mention it, though a few chuckled and made rude jokes about tavern brawls.

 

"Pardon me." Frodo cringed as a Man sitting alone at a table gazed at him appraisingly.  Frodo's stomach sank.

This Man looked as unappealing as the Man who had struck him.  "A moment of your time, if you please?"

 

Frodo nodded and stood before him.  "Yes?"

 

"That's quite a mark you've got on your face."

 

"Not everyone is kind," Frodo said, trying to keep his voice steady.

 

"Tis a pity to ruin such lovely skin as you have," the Man said, letting his stubby fingers run over Frodo's cheek. 

We'd be willing to pay you three coins if you would spend some time with us."

 

"Us?" Frodo asked uncertainly.  "What do you mean?" He looked nervously behind him at the bar. Butterbur was staring at him, and he did not look happy that Frodo was not hurrying.

 

"Both of us. Together.  Name's Kelin. My friend's name is

Ferny.  Bill Ferny."

 

"I…I don't know…Butterbur, he is getting suspicious of my absences…"

 

"After hours." Kelin winked.  "We'll be waiting in the second room at the right at the top of the second flight of steps.  Are you willing?"

 

Frodo closed his eyes. He was so sore.  And his last experience had made him wary of Men.  But three coins.  If he had not dropped so much cutlery, that would be enough to pay off his debt completely. 

 

"All right then. I will come," he said quietly and walked away without waiting for a response.

 

Another voice, much more wanted, spoke his name as he passed the darkest corner of the inn.  Frodo turned with a soft smile.  Vik! But Vik's glad smile faded when he saw

Frodo's bruised face.

 

"Who did this to you?" The Man asked, pulling Frodo close to the wooden bench he sat on, and putting a gentle finger under Frodo's chin to examine the bruising.

 

"It doesn't matter," Frodo said, his heart leaping in joy that Vik seemed to care.  "It is over." He could not believe his luck that Vik had returned so soon.

 

"Come sit with me a moment."

 

"I can't." Frodo looked warily at the bar.  At the moment,

Butterbur appeared to be distracted by some customers who were bantering with him.  "I am supposed to be working."

 

"If your landlord comes, I'll explain that it is official business.  Come, sit."

 

Frodo sidled into the bench beside him, feeling happy warmth as Vik's arm slid around his waist.

 

"Now," Vik said. "I understand you're a well-to-do halfling from a good family, only caught here by unfortunate circumstances."

 

"How do you know?" Frodo asked, amused.  Vik's hand slid down and rubbed his thigh affectionately.  Frodo felt himself harden. He wished he could go into a room alone with Vik instead of the two he had agreed to pleasure later that night.

 

"Your clothing, your demeanor. Well, it doesn't matter.  I just want to warn you that there's beginning to be more talk about you, and that means you must be wary. You are considered quite a jewel.  Do you know what most whores in this village make for a tumble in bed?"

 

Frodo shook his head.  "Two coins? Three?"

 

Vik laughed before he dropped his voice and became serious. 

"Try one quarter of a coin."

 

Frodo stared at him, awestruck.  "Then why…how?"

 

"You are beautiful, and everyone, even the dumbest of ruffians, can sense that you do not belong in this life.

Your eyes…I can tell you from experience that they leave one breathless and dizzy.  I could go on." Vik swallowed and gripped Frodo's thigh, obviously distracted, and Frodo noticed how full of pain his green eyes looked.

 

"What is it, Vik?" Frodo asked softly.

 

"The lawmen of this village are considering making the penalty for what you are doing much harsher than it ever has been before. I do not wish to see you lashed in public or left to rot in a jail far from your green home."

 

Frodo managed a smile, though he felt tears threaten at the mention of his home.  "Why are you so kind? You hardly know me."

 

"May I buy a kiss from you?"

 

Frodo's heart sank.  He had begun to think that Vik had taken a personal interest in him, but he still considered him an object to be bought.

 

"You may have one for no charge," he said faintly.

 

"No, not yet," Vik said, his eyes hardening. "Not until you are free."  He slipped a coin into Frodo's hand and kissed the hobbit deeply.  He pulled back abruptly, and they both looked up to see a furious Butterbur hovering over them.

 

*******

Butterbur's meaty hand grabbed Frodo by the front of his shirt and lifted him easily, swinging him behind him and setting him with surprising gentleness on the ground.  He then stepped in front of Vik, shaking with fury.

 

"Get out of my inn! How dare you…this hobbit has been abused enough…How dare you force yourself on him!"

 

"No, Butterbur," Frodo said weakly, and Butterbur spun around to face him, jabbing his finger in his face.

 

"You! Go to the kitchen and start washing—double quick! I'm not done talking to you, neither!"

 

"I apologize," Vik said, putting his hands out, palms up, in surrender. "I did not mean to cause trouble. Please do not blame Frodo, for I forced him away from his duties. But tell me, Butterbur.  If he has been so abused in this environment, why do you not just let him go?"

 

Frodo's heart sped, but he had no hope that Vik's words would make an impact. The lawman that had been talking to

Butterbur joined them.  "Do we have a problem here?"

 

"Accompany this man out of my inn," Butterbur said in disgust.

 

"There is no need for that," Vik said, getting up and putting several coins on the table. He paused a moment, looking at Butterbur with an expression so cold that it made Frodo shiver.  "And you better make certain that no new bruises end up on that halfling or I will make you personally responsible."

 

He then nodded to Frodo, who was still standing on trembling legs behind Butterbur.

 

Once Vik was out the door, Butterbur took Frodo by the shoulder and pushed him through the inn, heedless of the customers who needed refills.  Frodo's heart battered frantically as he wondered how much Butterbur had seen and heard. The coin Vik had given him was still warm in his hand, and he slipped it in his pocket.

 

Butterbur took Frodo into the kitchen and knelt in front of Frodo.  "Now let's have no more games, halfling.  How much money have you made on the side since you started working for me?"

 

Frodo took in steady breaths, trying to read the innkeeper's shrewd face.  Butterbur could not hurt him. He had been afraid of Vik.  But he could turn him into the lawman.

 

"Nothing," Frodo said softly. He had never been capable of deceit—Bilbo had always sensed when he was not being truthful—and now he could already see that Butterbur did not believe him. 

 

Butterbur jammed his hand into Frodo's pocket suddenly and retrieved the coin that Vik had given him. He turned hard eyes to the hobbit.

 

"Nearly enough to pay my debt," Frodo whispered, shaking so hard he could barely stand. "The coins are in my bag in my room. Will you not take them and let me go?"

 

"You got this from that fellow just now for a kiss--or were you going to slip off and do more?"

 

Frodo did not answer.  He watched in bitter disappointment as Butterbur put the coin in his own pocket.

 

The innkeeper laughed grimly.  "I always thought I was a good judge of character—comes from working among all kinds of folk for so long—and I thought you were a real innocent. 

But it seems I am wasting your time and energy by having you serve ale. And it seems I waste my sympathy on your battered face."  He laughed again, shaking his head.  "This sickens me that a fellow from the Shire, from a good family no doubt, would filthy himself like you have, but I'm also a realist, a businessman, and my inn hasn't done well for awhile.  Now I could very easily turn you into that lawman out there." Butterbur jabbed his thumb to the door. "He's a good friend, and he'll do anything for me.  You wouldn't like that, would you?"

 

Frodo shook his head, staggering a bit on his fit in dizziness. Butterbur was not yelling at him, not throwing him out, and now it appeared he would not turn him into the law. But he wanted something. That much was clear.

 

"So we now have a new deal here," Butterbur said.  "I don't care about your debt no more.  It don't matter when you can bring in several coins in one night.  You will stay here and work for me. You will be free to work the floor. You will give me 70% of what you earn. Now be careful because you don't know all the lawmen and sometimes they pretend to go along so that they can nail you for whoring and then drag you off to jail. I will do my best to point them out to you on any given night."

 

"But I wish to go home," Frodo said, swallowing miserably.

He could not believe he was hearing what he was from Butterbur.  "I do want this life."

 

"Come now, Frodo," Butterbur said. "I'm not an ogre. You see I'm a business man, not unreasonable or cruel.  Only thing is, if I find out you're making money that I don't know about and taking it for yourself, we'll have a serious problem. You'll not want to cross me that way.  Other than that, at the end of the year, if you still hate it, I will let you go."

 

"That's six months from now!" Frodo said, his eyes widening in panic.  "Sam…my friends will wonder where I am. Please, Butterbur.  I'll take my chances with the law. I will turn myself in."

 

  

  1. No hobbit whore I've ever known has survived it. Frodo, believe what you will, but I am rather fond of you and I would not wish that on you. You can send a message to the Shire from my inn. From jail, I do not think they will be so kind."
  



 

"What about you?" Frodo said, his chest heaving with fury. 

"What you have just offered me.  If they take me to jail, I will tell them about you, too, and you will rot in jail!"

 

Butterbur slapped him. Not hard, not like the blow to his face before, but enough to startle Frodo, who did not think the innkeeper had violent tendencies. When he saw the disgust and greed in Butterbur's formerly kind face, he wept the first genuinely desperate tears he had felt since he got into this mess.

 

"Come now." Butterbur's face softened, and he took Frodo into an embrace. "I am sorry I hit you.  It's not so bad.

Six months, and you'll be free—with a small fortune to boot."

 

Frodo collapsed against Butterbur's wide chest, the strength in his legs gone.  He had to find a way to get out of this, to escape.  He had to.

 

***

 

Frodo undressed before going to see Bill Ferny and Kelin.

No use having buttons torn from his shirt, which was already beginning to look grubby.  He disrobed completely, throwing his clothes on his bed, and he clutched his green cloak around his naked body.

 

When he entered the room that Kelin had earlier directed him to, the two Men stood eagerly to greet him.

 

"We were afraid you wouldn't show," Kelin said.

 

"You're right," Bill said, turning to Kelin with a lustful smile.  "He catches the eye. Different from these Bree hobbits."

 

"All ready for us, too."

 

Frodo no longer cared if these men wanted to rip him up inside.  What did it matter? It was bound to happen eventually now that he was stuck for six months.  He clenched his jaw. He could not think about it or he would weep again, and while Men seemed to think it was cute when a full-grown hobbit lost control of his emotions, Frodo found it disgusting and he hated himself for his outburst with Butterbur earlier.

 

"Well…what shall I do?" Frodo asked in a soft voice.

 

"His voice melts me inside, too," Kelin said.

 

"You can start by this," Bill said, roughly unbuttoning

Frodo's cloak at his neck and letting the cloak fall, leaving the hobbit utterly vulnerable before them.

 

Kelin reached down, sweeping Frodo off his feet, carrying him in solidly muscular arms. Frodo went utterly limp.  He hoped he could make himself hard for these men because he didn't want a repeat of what had happened the last time.

 

Vik, I'll think about Vik, he thought. 

 

"Shall he be set in between us or should we take turns?"

Bill asked as he undressed, panting. Frodo caught the whiff of his unclean skin and wondered how long it had been since he bathed.

 

"It's your call," Kelin said, shrugging. He had already completely disrobed. "I'm paying more, so I say I get him first. Just don't touch me in any unnatural way, Bill, or you'll get hurt."

 

Frodo was squeezed in between the two men in the middle of the small bed. Hands stroked him everywhere.  He shut his eyes, imagining Vik's strong hands on him. He hardened, and that caused a sigh of delight from Kelin, who let his grubby hand curl around Frodo's hardness.

 

Harsh fingers jammed into the cleft of Frodo's bottom, and he yelped in surprised pain. That only made the men laugh.

 

Frodo kept his eyes shut. Kelin lost no time rolling on top of him, wrenching open his buttocks, and jamming his own hardness into him.  The pain was horrendous, but Frodo told himself that the first time it had seemed unbearable, but then it had suddenly changed to pleasure.

 

"Come on," Bill said, and something bumped against Frodo's lips.  Frodo opened his eyes in time for Bill to thrust his member inside the hobbit's mouth.

 

"Suck, halfling," he said.

 

Frodo swallowed back a gag, and he shut his eyes, again trying desperately to imagine that it was Vik on top of him, Vik thrusting both into his backside and his mouth, and that he was doing this utterly willingly and for free. 

As long as he kept his eyes shut, he could almost believe, and soon enough, his body began to respond, The hardness inside him hit those pinpricks of blinding pleasure, and just as he had with Falon, he let out weak groans and gasps, which met with vast approval.

 

"Open those beautiful eyes," Kelin said, tugging at Frodo's chin.  "Come on."

 

Frodo opened his eyes, and Kelin wrapped his hand around

Frodo's hardness as if to anchor himself as he thrust desperately inside Frodo.

 

"Is he tight?" Bill asked, panting desperately as Frodo's tongue darted absentmindedlyl around his member. "I know his pretty little mouth is."

 

"Unbelievably so," Kelin said. "And hot, too.  Now shut yer mouth!"

 

Kelin grabbed Frodo's shoulders and thrust into him so hard that the bed clamored against the wall.  Frodo was numb to what he knew would be horrific pain later. He pictured

Vik's face above him-- his kind green eyes, his concern, his low but refined voice.  He pictured Vik's lust as he had watched Frodo pleasure himself.

 

All these images brought him closer to the edge, and he writhed against Kelin's weight, panting loudly.  Kelin finally released in one harsh grunt, and quickly rolled over on his side, utterly spent.  Frodo still had not crested, but neither had Bill.  Bill was close, and he was wet from Frodo's saliva.  Grunting like an animal, he took himself out of Frodo's mouth and replaced Kelin, thrusting up into Frodo's already widened but very sore hole.

 

"Oh, sweet, oh, sweet," he muttered.  He slobbered on

Frodo's nipples, letting his tongue wander Frodo's narrow chest.

 

Vik…Vik…Vik!

 

Frodo came with a mighty gasp, and when Bill saw that he was now soaked with hobbit, it brought him to quick conclusion as well.  He fell on top of Frodo heaving with pleasure, kissing Frodo's neck with shocking gentleness.

Kelin had slipped into a drunken doze.

 

***

 

Butterbur clicked his teeth approvingly, and patted Frodo's shoulder.  "Three coins." He nodded.  "I will give you one."

 

"Thank you," Frodo said, trying to keep his voice humble. 

Butterbur had shown a nasty, violent side the night before, and Frodo did not want to see it again.  Why were Men so violent?  Frodo would never think of striking anyone—he had been raised better than that--not unless he was defending himself against an attack.

 

"And I have something else for you," Butterbur said, settling down beside Frodo on his bed.  Frodo was sore, and the extra weight on the bed made him cringe.  Every time he shifted position, a sheet of agony ripped up his bottom. HE didn't know how he would do it if any of the Men expected him to do this act again this night.

 

Butterbur unwrapped from a brown bag a beautiful silk fabric in sapphire blue.  "Feel this."

 

"Oh," Frodo said in wonder, forgetting his attempt to stay subdued and humble. "I've not seen anything like this! 

Where did you get it?"

 

"Years ago, I bought it from an Elf, back in the days they passed through Bree. I never knew why I bought it, as I have no wife and children, only that it was fetching.  Now

I know." He smiled tenderly, and tucked his finger under

Frodo's chin, holding the fabric to Frodo's eyes. "I will have a shirt made for you.  None will be able to resist the magic it will do for your eyes. This cloth was meant for you, dear Frodo."

 

Frodo had to admit that the prospect of wearing a shirt made from that fabric excited him. He was not usually vain, but he imagined wearing the shirt and greeting Vik, who had already declared that Frodo's eyes left him breathless and dizzy.

 

Upon stepping into the Common Room, Frodo saw the effect his shirt had on the Men in the room. Even those who would never lie with another man gave him a second glance, at least appreciating his exotic beauty.  Frodo blushed, and the rush he got from all the attention was enough to reduce the pain in his backside. He wished more than ever that he could have the pleasure but without the damage to his backside and the prospect of violence. He wished it could just be with one person that he loved, and not anyone who had money.

 

He carried an ale under the pretence of waiting on customers as Butterbur had advised him.  He startled when he saw a group of four hobbits sitting at the lower tables.

It had been days since Frodo had seen any hobbits in the inn, and he was eager to converse with some of his kind.

 

"Good evening," he said with an eager smile.

 

The hobbits nodded, but averted their eyes.

 

"Can I get anything for you?" Frodo said. "It's good to see hobbits in here again."

 

"We've been helped," one of the hobbits said curtly. "Now if you'll excuse us."

 

They turned away from him, and Frodo suddenly realized, breaking into embarrassed sweat, that everyone in Bree must know what he did. In fact, it was a wonder he had not been thrown into jail already.  So intent was he on getting away from the table of hobbits, that he tripped over a mud-splotched boot sticking out from a dark corner. Before he fell, a sturdy hand steadied him.

 

"Oh, oh, thank you," Frodo said to the stranger, his heart thudding from his near accident. The Man nodded briefly, but said nothing.

 

"What is your name?" Frodo asked.

 

"My name should not matter to you," the Man said, and he leaned back in his chair, clearly finished with the conversation.  It seemed he was the only Man who did not stare in wonder at Frodo.  After being snubbed by the hobbits of Bree and now this Man, Frodo felt flustered. He muttered, "I'm sorry" and trotted away.

 

As he walked past a table full of men who had just begun a card game, a strong hand grabbed him.  A handsome man with stubble on his chin asked quietly, "How much if I want you for all the evening?"

 

All the evening? Frodo's bottom spasmed in pain at the very idea of doing what he had done with Bill and Kelin for several hours instead of just a few minutes!

 

"Don't look so frightened, halfling," the Man said with a knowing laugh. "I don't mean private-like the whole time. I mean, you just sit here with me, let me put my hands on you, and then at the end of the evening, we get a little romp in the bed."

 

"Oh, I see," Frodo breathed. "I must go ask.  In truth I am not certain what to charge."

 

Frodo tugged at Butterbur's sleeve, getting him to kneel down so they could have a private conversation.

 

"All evening…though only one time in bed," Butterbur said thoughtfully after Frodo had told him the deal. "Frodo,

offer him two times in bed and ask for 5 coins."

 

"Twice…in one night?" Frodo's lips trembled.

 

Butterbur smiled grimly.  "You are lucky I do not ask that you find one each hour."

 

"Oh…all right." Frodo caught sight of the grim man in the back corner.  "Do you know who that is? The man in the back?"

 

"Him?" Butterbur shook his head, looking suddenly unsure of himself. "I'd not bother with him, Frodo. He's one of them rangers. Dangerous folk they are, wandering the wild. What his right name is, I don't know, but when he comes to Bree, he is called Strider. Now go on back to your job."

 

The deal with the card player was arranged, and Frodo found himself seated on the Man's lap, a strong arm wrapped around his belly.  He sat with three other men around a table.  They had begun a card game. Frodo could not understand it, but the four of them seemed to have a rhythm going, and they all understood the game well.  The Man who had bought him was named Harry, and once in awhile, his hands groped inside Frodo's breeches. Other times, eh whispered, "Touch me down there."  And Frodo allowed his hand to slip inside the Man's breeches.

 

"I'd like to up the stakes," a firm voice said from behind Frodo, and he gasped joyfully.

 

"Vik…you're here!"

 

"How so?" Harry asked.

 

"If I beat all of you at this game, I get the halfling for the rest of the night."

 

 

***

 

Throughout the game, Harry kept a tight arm around Frodo's waist.  Whenever it wasn't his turn, he licked Frodo's ear and sucked on Frodo's neck.  Frodo cringed, but he did not resist. Vik glared at Harry, swallowing in silent rage, and Frodo wished there was a way to communicate to Vik that he only tolerated it because he feared later consequences.

 

"He is a sweet little thing, isn't he?" Harry asked, tilting Frodo's chin up. "I can't wait to bang him upstairs. Twice, I get him twice."

 

"I may want him tomorrow night then," one of Harry's friends said.

 

Vik's jaw clenched, but he stayed calm, and Frodo's stomach grew cold and began to roll, and he wondered if he would need to throw up.  He shivered, since his silk shirt did nothing to keep him from getting chilled.  He suddenly felt utterly vile.  The Men were talking about him like he was a piece of meat, property to be bought for a night. And that's exactly what he was, and it had nothing to do with who he was. Frodo Baggins had ceased to exist, replaced by a pretty face that was only eager to please Men who hurt him. Yes, it was because he was desirable, but not in the right way. None of them cared that he was sore or that he was imprisoned by Butterbur.

 

If only Vik could take him away from here.

 

"All right, gentlemen," Vik said, putting his cards on the table with a triumphant smile.  "I believe I have just won."

 

"You cheat!" Harry deposited Frodo roughly on the bench beside him and stood, leaning threateningly over Vik. Two ales crashed to the floor. The rest of the tavern grow quiet, staring curiously over at their table.

 

"I won fair and square. Your friends can't deny it."

 

"I say you cheat!" Harry shoved Vik in the shoulder.  Vik's easy grin faded, and Frodo was thrilled to see that he looked dangerous, like an alley cat ready to fight.

 

"You don't want to do that," Vik said.

 

Harry squeezed Frodo's ear and twisted, causing Frodo to gasp in pain before he mercifully let go. "I paid five coins for him."

 

"And the deal was, if I beat you and all your friends, which I clearly have, then the halfling is mine."

 "Whoring cheater!"

 Frodo gasped and shrunk against the wall as Harry backhanded Vik across the face.  Vik winced for only a moment, wiping a drop of blood from his nose, before he reached over and grabbed Harry's tunic, pulling him so that their faces were only inches apart.

 

"Let us get something straight," Vik said in a low voice. "I am many things, but a cheater I am not. I won the halfling fair and square, and if you have a problem with that, we can take it outside. But I will not engage in an uncivilized tavern brawl. Understand?"

 

"All right then," Harry said.  "Don't fret none. I didn't mean nothing by it.  The halfling's yours now." He snorted in disgust. "Waste of a good five coins, that was."  He pulled out of Vik's grip and shoved away from the table, stomping out of the inn.

 

Frodo smiled at Vik in adoration.  That this Man had done this for him had to mean that he cared for him as much as Frodo cared for him.

 

"Come," Vik said, putting his arm around Frodo's shoulders and helping him out from behind the table.  "Let us find a quiet room." 

 

As they walked out of the room, neither noticed the keen gray eyes that followed them from the same dark corner where Frodo had tripped and nearly fallen earlier.

 

Once they were in a quiet room, Frodo's cheeks were hot. He didn't care how sore he was.  He would allow Vik to do what the others had done with him and this time he would enjoy it immensely.  He began to unbutton his shirt, but Vik grabbed his wrist.

 

"No, Frodo.  Just come with me on the bed. Let's just talk for a bit.  I have you all night, and that landlord can't bother you." Once Frodo joined him on the bed, Vik looked at his face, where the bruising had noticeably faded.  "He hasn't hurt you, has he?"

 

"No," Frodo said, and then laughed. "Not yet. Though don't you think the bruising rather went well with my eyes?"

 

"Do not joke about it," Vik said.  "This is dangerous what you're doing. If some nasty drunk doesn't accidentally break your neck, then you might end up lashed in public or left to be abused in one of Bree's jails. I've seen the jails, Frodo, and I don't want you there."

 

"Vik, why do you care so for me?" Frodo asked, his heart thumping.  Vik was holding him close, his arm wrapped around his back, and Frodo could barely stand the contact. 

His nipples felt hard and tender, and his groin ached pleasantly as he rubbed against Vik.

 

"Stop," Vik said firmly, pushing Frodo away.  Frodo was breathing quickly, and he squirmed against Vik's grip, wanting only contact with Vik's body.  "Do you see what you are doing?"  Vik's face became grim and he continued, "Allow me to see something.  May I?" he asked, hands hovering over the button to Frodo's breeches. 

 

"Of course," Frodo said.  He was so hard that his member poked up, straining against the fabric.  The feel of Vik's hands pulling down his breeches nearly undid him, and he panted restlessly. What point was the Man trying to make?

He only knew it was irritating.  Before Frodo could react, Vik had flipped him over so that he was lying on his stomach.

 

"Oh, no," Vik breathed, letting a gentle finger run over the soreness.  "Oh, no."

 

And there was a quality to Vik's voice that made Frodo's hardness go limp, that caused a coldness to seep over his chest, and his throat filled with shame.

 

 

***

 

 

"Don't touch me!" Frodo suddenly yelled, scrambling away from Vik's touch, pulling up his breeches.  He wanted to bolt from the room, to never see this captivating and kind man, who must think Frodo was the lowest form of dirt. But if he left, he might end up with someone like Harry for the rest of the night.  He shrank against the bed board, hugging his knees to his chest. 

 

"Frodo…" Vik said, crawling cautiously toward him.

 

"Leave me be."

 

"Do you mean it?" Vik said.  "I do not wish to, but I will leave, if that is what you want. I wanted to give you some peace, and I had thought that I…well, maybe it was too much to assume on my part, but I thought maybe that you would consider me a pleasant way to spend an evening."

 

"I am dirty to you," Frodo said.  "And to myself.  I left the Shire to find Bilbo, but what would he think if he could see me now?"

 

"Here now," Vik said, gathering Frodo into his arms.  "I did not mean to hurt you in any way. That's the last thing I would want."

   
"I'm not like this, Vik," Frodo said, covering his face with his hands.  "I come from a good family."

 

"Do you think I don't know that?" Vik said, holding Frodo tighter.  "I know you've gotten pulled into a situation no longer in your control and I want to help you.  I will offer to pay Butterbur off."

 

Frodo looked up at him, his eyes dark and furious. "So you can own me as Butterbur does now?"

 

Vik's cheeks reddened as if Frodo had slapped him hard.  He seemed to fumble for something to say for several seconds, and Frodo felt guilty for being so cruel.  He trusted Vik, and he knew the Man had good intentions.

 

"Frodo, I…" Vik started, grasping Frodo's hand and squeezing.

 

"I'm sorry," Frodo said, looking down.  "I did not mean it. I know you are a good and honest man."

 

"I'm glad you think so," Vik said, stroking Frodo's hand with gentle fingers.  "Because I am so taken with you.  I want you free so that…Well, I will take you home to the Shire if that is what you desire, or you could," he swallowed.  "This isn't easy for me to say.  Perhaps if Bree hasn't turned you off of the world of Men forever, and you want more adventure, perhaps you could come with me to my village of Thrushwood. I will be in Bree but for another week, and I must return to my duties." Frodo was silent,  
awed by what Vik was asking of him. He held his breath,

afraid to break the spell. 

 

Vik grew more confident as he didn't see Frodo protesting

right away. "You would be safe.  Thrushwood is not like

Bree. The folk that live there are hard working and kind.

My job as captain of lawmen gets rather dull most of the

time. Occasionally I deal with a tavern brawl or a drunk

disturbing the peace, but—"

 

"Yes," Frodo said, still looking at his hands, his cheeks

heating.

 

"I promise if you came that you would be happy—" Vik looked

at Frodo sharply.  "Did you say yes?" 

 

Frodo nodded, so happy that he could not speak.  Vik would

save him from this dreadful place. He would be free, and he

would be with a man with whom he had already in so short a

time fallen in love.

 

"I want to speak to Butterbur now, to make the deal." 

 

Frodo could not help but grin, as he had not yet seen Vik

so eager. 

 

Then he sighed, serious again. "Wait. I will go with you. I

do not trust Butterbur."

 

Frodo and Vik left the room and hovered in the corridor,

near the entrance to the Common Room.  The room was thick

with smoke, and the roar of Men already loud from drink.

 

Frodo caught Butterbur's attention and beckoned to him. 

The fat innkeeper wiped his hands on his apron and bustled

quickly to them.

 

"Is there a problem?" Butterbur asked.

 

"No problem, we hope," Vik said with a nervous smile. 

"I've come to make a deal. I want to buy Frodo's freedom

from you."

 

Butterbur looked surprised for only a moment before his

mouth formed into a grim line.  "How can you do that? I do

not hold him here against his will."

 

Frodo's heart plunged. He should have known Butterbur would

not let him go so easily.  He hoped Vik was smart about

such matters.

 

"What of his debt?" Vik demanded.  "It was eight coins, am

I right -- an outrageous and probably false claim to begin

with."  Vik held out a leather pouch full of coins. "I will

give you twelve."

 

Butterbur began to laugh, and Frodo's heart pattered

nervously.  He wished Vik would just sweep him up off his

feet and run out of the inn with him, because he had the

feeling something dreadful was going to happen.

 

"What amuses you?" Vik asked heatedly. "I am making a

serious proposal."

 

"I erased his debt," Butterbur said.  "Did I not, Frodo?" 

The innkeeper cast a deliberate glance out into the Common

Room, and Frodo followed his gaze.  The lawman that

Butterbur had been talking to a few days earlier was deep

in conversation with the mysterious ranger he had named

Strider.

 

"Yes," Frodo said, his throat filling, unable to look at

Vik.

 

"This is true?" Vik asked Frodo, his eyes dark with hurt. 

"You do this willingly?"

 

Frodo looked at Butterbur beseechingly, but he did not dare

to speak.  If he misspoke, Butterbur would call out to the

lawman to arrest him, and Vik would have no jurisdiction to

stop it.

 

"Aye, he does it willingly," Butterbur said. "He gets to

keep about 30% of everything he makes, which is very

generous, considering I cloth and feed him, as well as let

him sleep here for free. He probably already has this

amount that you are offering me."

 

"Butterbur…" Frodo said, barely able to breathe through his

misery.  "I will give you—" But a warning look from the

innkeeper silenced him.

 

"So it wasn't true that you were down on your luck," Vik

said to Frodo, swallowing in wounded disgust, and his voice

trembled.  "I can't believe I allowed myself to be so

deceived."

 

Frodo looked at him, silently begging him to realize that

something was wrong.

 

"These whores will do anything to get sympathy," Butterbur

said. "Your coins are best spent elsewhere."  Butterbur

pushed the leather pouch toward Vik.

 

"It would seem so," Vik said, and casting a final bitter

look toward Frodo, he pushed past Butterbur and strode

through the Common Room and out of the inn.  Frodo watched

in devastation, his throat filling in desperate pain.

 

 

**Warning: violence!!**

*******

 

 

Butterbur grabbed Frodo's arm and steered him into the

Common Room.  "I'm not going to say anything to you, Mr.

Baggins," he said roughly. "Not now.  Because I have

another customer for you. I told him you were busy earlier,

remembering how he bruised up your face before, but you're

no longer busy, are you?"

 

Frodo let out a sharp gasp when Butterbur stopped him in

front of the man who had been so violent to him. "No." He

looked up at Butterbur, his eyes filled with pleading.

"Please, Butterbur. I've already made you 5 coins this

evening."

 

"Here you go, Will.  He's yours for the rest of the night."

 

Will—Frodo had never found out his name the last time--

chuckled and handed Butterbur a coin.  He then dug cruel

fingers into Frodo's shoulder and led him out of the Common

Room.

 

Up in the abandoned room Will had found, the Man knelt in

front of Frodo.  "Got something for me, Halfling?"

 

"What…what do you…what do you mean?" Frodo asked in a small

voice, barely able to take in breath. He was trembling all

over, partially from cold, but mostly from fear. This was

the Man who had threatened to beat him if he couldn't get

hard for him, and Frodo felt far from aroused.

 

Will slapped his face hard.  Frodo held his cheek, tears

stinging his eyes.  Butterbur had gone beyond cruel. He

would not allow Vik to buy his freedom, and now he had sent

him with someone he knew to be violent, someone he knew

would hurt Frodo.  If Butterbur wanted to make more money

off of him, then it made no sense to allow him to get beat

up and bruised again.

 

"It doesn't matter what you do," Frodo said dully. "Just

take me if that is what you want."

 

The Man grabbed Frodo's shoulder and threw him to the

ground so that he landed on his back and hit his head

against the wood floor.  Will dropped to his knees,

hovering over the hobbit, and squeezed his chin with one

meaty hand. The other hand slipped inside Frodo's breeches

and curled around his flaccid member. "You better be

getting hard for me, you little rat!"

 

Frodo squeezed his eyes shut. There was no way he could get

hard for this Man. When he had been with Kelin and Bill, he

had imagined being with Vik, but now Vik hated him.  His

heart cramped at that last thought.

 

"Last time I didn't want to bang you, but this time I think

I might."

 

"Please…" Frodo said, blinking rapidly.  "Please be

merciful…" He didn't know why he was bothering. Will's eyes

were cruel, like he imagined the orcs from Bilbo's tales,

and he clearly thrived on preying on Frodo's weakness. 

 

"Shut up." Will slapped him hard again.

 

Frodo desperately thought about anything else that might

help to arouse him, and he was surprised when his thoughts

turned to the piercing gray eyes in the corner of the

Prancing Pony and the strong hands that had caught him when

he had nearly fallen on his face.  The mysterious ranger

would no doubt be intriguing in bed, a little untamed,

dangerous.  Frodo pictured sure hands, calloused from the

wilderness and wielding a sword, roving his body, curling

around his shaft.  Slowly he began to harden.

 

"There we go," Will said, panting.  "That's better."

 

Frodo blocked out Will's voice as he felt his breeches

pulled down.  Instead he heard the low, sultry voice of the

ranger whisper as he nibbled on Frodo's pointy ear.  Gentle

licks over his chest, circling his hardening nipples—

 

Frodo cried out and his eyes flew open.  Will had bit his

nipple hard, drawing blood.  His arousal immediately

deflated, and he flung his hands at Will's face in the fury

of pain.  He made contact, heard the crack his hand made

against Will's nose, and it gave him only a moment of

satisfaction before Will flushed with rage.

 

"All right, you little Shire rat."

 

The blows hailed on Frodo from every direction.  He could

not distinguish between fist and boot—they seemed equally

unyielding.  He could not even cry out, as every strike

knocked the breath from him.  With a final stomp on his

tender belly, Will said, "I want to, but I ain't gonna kill

you 'cause old Butterbur will find a way to get me in jail.

I can tell you this, though, halfling. This felt tons

better than banging you.  Tons better. Look, I'm hard as

can be."

 

Frodo tried to take in breath, but it hurt so much.  His

face felt numb, though Will had only hit him there a few

times.  He faded in and out of consciousness, and he didn't

hear when Will left him.  He continued to lie on the dusty

wood floor, his breeches around his knees, his fancy silk

shirt splattered with blood.

 

When he thought about Vik, a hot fury spread over his sore

chest.  Because of him, this had happened. Because Vik had

been too cowardly to just take Frodo and flee the inn and

then he had been too dense to see through Butterbur's

  

  1. If Vik was truly taken by him, then he 
  



would never have left him behind.

 

Frodo's stomach rolled until he gagged and vomited on the

floor.  The act sent sheets of pain over his battered

abdomen, filling his eyes with tears.

 

 

 

*******

 

 

The door to the room was flung open and a heavy knee

crashed to the wood floor in front of Frodo's face. Frodo

managed to crack his eyes open long enough to see Butterbur

peering down at him.

 

"He got you really good this time." Butterbur said, cupping

Frodo's chin in his meaty hand and examining the welts and

bruises.  "Let's come on down to the room and I'll fix you

up.  You gotta believe me that I didn't want you this

banged up. Not good for my business either. You'll probably

not be able to work for a week or so."

 

"Leave me alone," Frodo said, and his voice sounded nasal. 

He wondered if his nose was broken. It hurt badly enough.

 

Butterbur pulled Frodo's breeches back up.  "Come now," he

said, helping Frodo to a sitting position.  Frodo gasped. 

His ribs hurt horribly.  "I probably shouldn't have done

that," Butterbur continued.  "Sent you with that horrid

man, but you got me right upset trying to get that Vik to

buy you right in front of the lawmen and all. Come now,

Frodo. I'll fix you up. You'll be as good as new in a few

days."

 

"You're likely to get me killed and then you'll get no

money out of me," Frodo said, clutching his stomach and

wheezing.

 

"Watch your mouth," Butterbur said, flashing him a warning

glance.

 

***

 

Frodo sat alone at a table in the Common Room. Though

Butterbur had cleaned him off and helped rinse the blood

from his silk shirt, Frodo did not want to lie down in his

room because it smelled bad.  He didn't want Butterbur

fussing over him. He shuddered at the innkeeper's touch and

thought it was probably only a matter of time before he

wanted to find out for himself why Frodo was so popular.

 

Frodo was horribly sore. His face throbbed and he could

barely move without his ribs protesting. He didn't think

they were broken, but they were certainly cracked. When he

had coughed in the other room, a few droplets of blood had

sprayed onto his hands.

 

Now that he was sitting alone, free with his thoughts, he

could muse over Vik's unfair treatment.  It didn't make

sense.  While they had lain together in the room, Vik had

made it clear how strong his feelings were for him, that he

was willing to do nearly anything to get him out of this

situation.  He knew Butterbur was not trustworthy, so why

had he suddenly turned on Frodo?  Frodo felt a bit of hope

at the idea that maybe Vik had seen the lawmen, too, and

had not wanted to get Frodo arrested.  But he had still

left Frodo to be beaten by that horrid man. He could have

just taken Frodo out of there, never mind the consequences.

Vik looked strong enough to be able to fight several men at

once.

 

Frodo startled as he suddenly was aware that the hooded

gray-eyed ranger was sitting just at the next table,

sipping an ale and watching the hobbit carefully.  Frodo's

heart leaped and his cheeks warmed, remembering how he had

imagined the Man's rough yet gentle touch on him earlier. 

Frodo managed a tentative smile at him, causing his cheek

to throb, but Strider did not respond.  Frodo's cheeks

heated again, this time in embarrassment. 

 

Why was Strider so unaffected by him?  He could make Frodo

forget his misery for awhile. Why were the appealing men

turning against him, leaving him vulnerable to repulsive,

violent men like Will? 

 

This was going to end now.

 

Unbuttoning his shirt so that one nipple was daringly

visible, Frodo slid out of his seat and stood in front of

the ranger.

 

"Why do you stare at me?"

 

There was a long, awkward silence, in which Frodo nearly

regretted approaching the ranger. Butterbur had warned him

against it, said the rangers were dangerous.

 

Finally, Strider spoke in a low voice. "You are mistaken,

halfling. I am not staring at you, much as you may have

become accustomed to that."

 

Frodo gave him the most charming smile he could.  "Would

you like to find out why men stare at me?" Frodo asked.

 

The ranger watched him, apparently unmoved for several more

moments, until his lip finally curled up just slightly. 

"You would lie with me?"

 

"Yes," Frodo said in relief that Strider had finally

responded.  "Though I am rather sore right now."

 

"What do you charge?"

 

"It depends on what we do," Frodo said.  "If we do the full

act, I must charge you three coins. If not, it will be

two."

 

"You are very expensive," Strider said, and his hand

brushed over Frodo's face. Frodo could not help but lean

into the touch, closing his eyes.  "And perhaps normally,

justifiably so.  But I am certain your face was much fairer

without the swelling and bruising. You should have a care

who you choose to service, for now I would only pay you two

coins for the full act."

 

"All right, that will do then," Frodo closed his eyes in

contentment, imagining the ranger's hands on him, making

his body sing loud enough to forget the bruising.

 

"Let me make certain I understand," Strider said.  "I will

give you two coins and you would be willing to allow me to

have my way with you. Is that it?"

 

"Yes, that is the way it works," Frodo said.  "Now come, I

know of a good room."

 

"Not so fast, halfling." Strider's voice changed, became

hard and chilling, as he stood to his full height.  "You

are under arrest." Before Frodo could struggle or realize

what was happening to him, Strider had pulled out a length

of rope and was tying Frodo's wrists behind him.  Frodo

squirmed around to see his face, gasping in horror, tears

of rage springing to his eyes.

 

"You're a lawman?" he gasped, squirming from side to side. 

"How can that be?"

 

"Not your concern." Strider pulled Frodo's wrists up just

slightly to stop the hobbit's struggling, but Frodo

whimpered as his ribs throbbed yet again. "Stop your

struggling or this is going to be unpleasant."

 

"Where are you taking me?" Frodo gasped.  He pictured a

dank jail full of leering Men like Harry and Will.  Or the

guards that Butterbur had threatened him with, those that

liked to have fun with hobbit prisoners.

 

Many in the inn had grown quiet as Frodo was tied up, his

nipple still tantalizingly visible, and they watched with

seedy interest, and definitely some regret, as Frodo was

led through the inn. 

 

Butterbur ran from behind the bar.

 

"What is the meaning of this?" he called out, wiping his

hands on his apron.

 

"I'm afraid your little gold mine is finished in Bree,"

Strider said, pushing Frodo roughly in front of him. 

 

"Gold mine?" Butterbur muttered innocently.  "For what I

pay him, it's more the other way around, I—"

 

"Save it," Strider said with a piercing glare.  "You are

fortunate that you are such good friends with so many of

the lawmen or you would be coming with me right now, too."

 

Strider pushed open the door to the outside, and his

fingers dug into Frodo's shoulders.

 

 

******* ****

 

 

Every step was agony for Frodo.  Strider had bound him

tightly enough to cause his wrists to go numb, and

unpleasant pinpricks to travel up his arms.  Every breath

caused pain to rip over his ribcage.  Though he felt a

growing nausea, he did not dare ask to rest, as they had

only walked a few blocks.

 

A figure stepped out of a shadowy alley. "What's going on?"

 

Frodo's heart jolted with alarming force when he recognized

Vik's voice.

 

"That is none of your concern," Strider said.  "Now move

aside."

 

"Yes, it is." Vik blocked Strider's way.  "Who are you and

where are you taking that halfling—" Vik's voice broke off

in horror when he saw the bruising.  "Oh, Frodo," he

breathed before looking at Strider with a face pale with

fury as he drew his sword. Strider's hand strayed to his

own hilt.  "Did you do this to him?"

 

Frodo glared at Vik, his throat tight with rage.  How dare

Vik act self-righteous after what he had done! Frodo's

heart sped that these men might come to blows over him.

 

"Move aside," Strider said. "This harlot is going to jail

and nowhere else.  I didn't lay a hand on him so you can

put your sword away."

 

"I will put my sword away," Vik said, sheathing it.  "But I

still intend to take him off your hands."

 

"I would not go with you, Vik," Frodo said in a clear

voice, lifting his chin. "I'd rather go to jail. At least I

*know* what the guards will do to me."

 

"I did not mean what I said, Frodo," Vik said, kneeling in

front of him. "I had no choice.  Butterbura33;did that orc

hurt you?" He swallowed with rage, and Frodo's heart melted

a little at the obvious concern Vik showed for him. His

ribs throbbed again, causing him to swallow in nausea, and

he remembered again why he was so angry.  "Sir," Vik said

to Strider. "Have you tended to his hurts?"

 

"Move aside," Strider said, and one of his hands left

Frodo's shoulders to reach for the hilt of his sword again.

"My patience is thinning."

 

Vik stood to his full height in front of Strider.  "I am a

lawman in my village, and I know the jails here in Bree.

You cannot take this halfling there. It will kill him. I

ask again, allow me to take him."

 

"He does not seem so eager to go with you." Frodo was

amused to hear a smirk in Strider's voice. He had not been

sure the ranger had a sense of humor. "And there are five

lawmen across the street. If you do not move out of the way

willingly, I will apply their help."

 

Vik stepped aside, his eyes dark with rage.  "I'll get you

out, Frodo," he said.

 

Frodo let out a scornful sigh.  He had no hope that anyone

would help him out of this situation.

 

Strider continued to push him forward.  Frodo twisted his

head around. "Please, Strider. Please do not take me to

jail.  I will do…I will do as I offered you earlier for no

cost."  His voice sounded weak to his own ears.  He was

going to be sick if they did not stop soon to rest. 

Strider did not answer, and Frodo's stomach heaved. 

"Please," he continued. "I am going to be sick."

"Quiet," Strider said.

 

As they grew close to the jail, Frodo did not care how sick

he was or how badly his ribs hurt.  He thrashed from side

to side and pulled at the binding on his wrists, yelling.

"Let go of me…please don't take me in there, please! Let me

go home! Please!"

 

Strider dropped to one knee and whirled Frodo around,

clenching his shoulders.

 

"Enough."

 

Shocking even himself, Frodo spit in Strider's face.  He

flinched, fully expecting Strider to strike him.  The world

already seemed distant, and a strange buzzing filled his

ears.

 

"Do you need help?" A low voice asked.

 

"I have here a halfling harlot I have agreed to deliver to

you."

 

The man looked at Frodo and began to laugh.  "This will be

a tasty piece for the other prisoners."

 

"What do you mean by that?" Strider asked in a chilling

voice, raising to his full height again.

 

"I mean that there's plenty of men in the jail who would

love to get their hands on this one."

 

Frodo swayed and collapsed to his knees.  He could not take

it.  He might as well die here in the road in front of the jail.

 

"You do not have separate cells here?"

 

The man laughed.  "Are you fooling?  There's no need for it."

 

"You put hobbits in the same cells with men?" Strider

demanded. Frodo felt a wave of dizziness.  Strider had

refused to listen to Vik on the same matter.

 

"We don't get many hobbit prisoners.  They don't often last

long in here, but well, one less filth in Bree, I always

say. Though that one might attract some of my guards.  He's

a beauty."

 

"No," Frodo gasped before everything went black.

 

 

 

*******

 

 

Frodo woke feeling dizzy, every breath agony.  It felt like

something, cloth perhaps, was bound tightly around his

middle.  He looked in a daze at the bright room with the

high ceiling and a pleasant, crackling fireplace.  He was

not in his cramped, smelly room in Butterbur's inn, but

where—? All that had passed yesterday—Vik's rejection of

him, Will beating him, his arrest, his knowledge that he

would die in jail--crashed over him.

 

"Do not move."

 

Frodo gasped and shrank from Strider, who was sitting in

silent contemplation smoking a pipe that so dearly reminded

him of Gandalf that it made him tear up immediately. 

"Where am I? What happened?" He rubbed his wrists,

remembering how tightly they had been bound last he had

been aware of Strider's presence.

 

"I had not the heart to send you to certain death in a Bree

jail so you are in my custody."

 

Frodo leaned on one elbow, wincing in pain as he looked

around the room. "Am I in Bree still?"

 

"Lie back down, Frodo.  You have a broken rib."

 

"Broken…why did you not send me to jail?" Frodo closed his

eyes.  "Surely I deserve it."

 

"Deserve it?" Strider chuckled, and Frodo smiled a little.

He did like the rich sound of that laugh.  "I dare say you

do.  But death? I cannot pass that judgment on you."

 

"Will you take me back to the Shire?"

 

"Tell me something, first, Frodo. How came you here?  What

is a nice gentlehobbit from the Shire doing in Bree, doing

what you were doing?"

 

"Why do you want to know?" Frodo asked, suddenly angry. 

Strider scorned him. He had been the only Man who had not

fallen for Frodo's charm, who seemed thoroughly

uninterested in him.

 

"Because I know Shire hobbits well, and this behavior of

yours is far from typical."

 

Frodo raised his eyebrows and let out a loud sigh.  "I

suppose that's what you would think. You and every busybody

in Hobbiton.  How about this? A young hobbit goes to Bree

in order to look for his dear uncle, who ran off to see the

elves, and instead ends up robbed and in the service of a

greedy innkeeper."

 

Strider's eyes flickered with something—recognition,

surprise—when Frodo mentioned his uncle and elves, but he

stayed calm.  "So Butterbur forced you to sell yourself?"

 

"No, but he made me work for the 8 coins that my supper

cost, and he only wanted to pay me a half-coin a night. I

was his slave, Strider.  He worked me to the bone."

 

"8 coins?" Strider said in shock.  "Frodo, what did you

eat—or drink—that cost 8 coins?"

 

"What do you mean?" Frodo asked in annoyance. "You're

asking me to remember the last meal I had when I was a free

hobbit? No, I do not remember!"

 

"8 coins might feed a frugal Bree family for a month. My

point is, Frodo, Butterbur took advantage of your

unworldliness by lying about how much your dinner was that

night."

 

A heat surged over Frodo's chest.  He should have known!

Why did he not think it was odd that he was considered an

expensive treat, and he was paid 3 coins at the very most!

And Vik had mentioned that most harlots only made much,

much less. How would they afford to eat if a meal in an inn

had cost 8 coins!

 

"He tricked me," Frodo said.

 

"I see that," Strider said, nodding and taking another puff

of his pipe. His indifference caused Frodo another surge of

rage.  Why was the Man so indifferent to him?

 

"Strider…" Frodo said in a strangled voice.  First he

thrust the sheet from himself so that he…and his delicious

pale chest…were visible to the ranger.  He stuffed his hand

inside his breeches and began to stroke, thrusting his hips

up.  The shock on Strider's face at seeing the determined,

furious hobbit stroking himself was enough to make Frodo

immediately hard.

 

"You're incorrigible," Strider whispered, rising to his

feet.

 

"You must want to taste me," Frodo said, continuing to

stroke vigorously as waves of sweetness rolled over his

belly.

 

"You seem quite frustrated," Strider said.  "And judging by

your broken rib and bruising, you do not let the violent

nature of the Bree man, nor your trouble with me stop you

from finding nearly constant pleasure. I will leave you in

peace to finish yourself." Strider bowed slightly and left

the room.  Frodo heard the click of a lock and let out a

sigh of fury.  When he finished, he made certain to clean

himself on Strider's cloak, which was still draped on the

chair next to Frodo's bed. That last made him smile

wickedly and he quickly dropped into sleep.

 

 

 

*******

 

When Frodo next woke, he was hungry and Strider was still

gone.  Strider -- Frodo scowled -- the one Man who was

utterly unaffected by him, had imprisoned him and now he

had disappeared, leaving Frodo hungry, thirsty, and with no

fuel to build a fire in this chilly room.  Frodo rolled out

of bed, wincing at the sharp pain that assailed his ribs. 

He was more sore than he had been yesterday, his abdomen so

stiff that he could barely breathe, much less move. Frodo

limped to the window and peered down into a gray alley. 

Gray morning mist swirled on the sidewalk. He shivered. His

torn silk shirt was simply too flimsy for a chilly morning

like this.  He smiled ruefully as he noticed that Strider

had come back for his cloak.

 

Frodo was not bound or tied to anything, though his wrists

were still sore from where Strider had bound them so

tightly yesterday. If he could get the window open, the

drop was not too far.  At most, he might injure his ankle,

and he could endure the pain for the time it would take him

to flee the village before Strider realized his halfling

prisoner was missing.

 

He pushed at the window, but it stuck, and the effort sent

jagged pain over his ribcage.  He groaned, clutching his

stomach with his arm.  He didn't have time to be weak. If

Strider caught him trying to escape he might very well

change his mind about throwing Frodo into a Bree jail.

 

What was he supposed to do? He sat on the edge of the bed

with a frustrated sigh, shivering. 

 

His stomach growled, and he stood again, pacing the room. 

His rib gave sharp protest to the movement, but he was too

agitated to lie down again.  If he stood on his tiptoes, he

could see part of his face in the mirror.  What a mess he

was! His flawless pale skin was now battered, swollen,

bruised. He had a black eye, and he hadn't had one of those

since Lotho had punched him as a tween newly arrived in

Hobbiton.

 

Frodo pushed against the window with all his might and

determination, this time ignoring the pain that seeped over

his chest and abdomen.  The window finally flew up with a

giant squeak.

 

"I would prefer not to heal a broken leg atop all else.

That is a longer jump than it looks, Frodo."

 

Strider's voice made Frodo jump, and he whirled around,

breathless.  His heart thudded horribly in his chest and he

sank to the ground, wrapping his hands around knees, now

fully yielding to the pain in his stomach and ribs.  Now

Strider would surely take him to jail.  Still, he looked

hopefully at Strider, trying to see whether he had brought

any food. He didn't smell anything. He swallowed in disgust

at himself. He wasn't very hungry anymore anyway.

 

"You are a sorry sight," Strider said with a laugh, falling

to one knee in front of Frodo.  Frodo scowled at him.  If

Strider seized him with intent tie him up to take him to

jail, he would fight with everything he had, no matter the

cost to himself.

 

"What did you think you would do?" Strider asked, and

though there was a teasing quality to his voice, it was not

unkind.  "You'd not make it far in your state."

 

"Why do you bear me such hatred?" Frodo asked. "Does it

disgust you, all I've done?"

 

"Disgust?" Strider lifted his brows slightly.  "Nay,

halfling.  You seem overly concerned about my opinion of

you, and I am but a ranger of the wild.  My duty is to

protect the people of these northern lands, including this

village of Bree."

 

"Am I such a threat?" Frodo asked bitterly. "That you spend

your time and energy keeping me imprisoned?"

 

Strider laughed. "A threat only to the hearts of men who

can see you as more than an Elvish beauty."

 

"Elvish?" Frodo could not help but smile a little at being

associated with anything Elvish. His stomach growled.

 

"That lawman from Thrushwood," Strider said thoughtfully.

"He confronted me once again about you. It seems you have

captured his heart. I told him you are in safe hands, but I

am not sure he believed me."

 

Frodo's breath was nearly taken away at the mention of Vik.

Somehow he had assumed that now that Vik had seen him

arrested and beaten, the lowest he could have fallen, that

Vik would give up on him.  He would realize that the lust

he had felt for a hobbit was not worth the trouble.  "Is

that so?" Frodo whispered.

 

"Come," Strider said with a smile.  "You should be back in

bed.  You are shivering in that flimsy cloth.  I purchased

a shirt for you at the market that is thicker and covers

more of your skin."

 

"I do not need it," Frodo said, his throat filling with

prideful injury that once again, Strider was unaffected by

what the flimsy shirt was revealing.

 

"Will you get into bed willingly or shall I help you?"

 

Frodo glared at him before climbing to his feet, wincing,

bent over in pain.

 

"And," Strider said in a more serious tone. "I will look

over your injuries again. You are clearly in much pain."

 

"I am all right," Frodo said through gritted teeth.

 

Once tucked into bed again, propped up by pillows, Frodo

felt his stomach growl again, and he felt annoyed that

Strider seemed far from dealing with the issue of

breakfast.

 

"So is it the nature of men to starve their prisoners to

death?"

 

Strider looked surprised for a moment, and then he began to

laugh.  He laughed so long and loudly, Frodo feared that

the neighbors would wake.

 

"What is funny?" Frodo hissed. He now had a headache from

being so hungry.

 

"I had forgotten that I am dealing with a hobbit when it

comes to food."

 

"Well," Frodo said, thoroughly annoyed. "If you cannot see

that I am a hobbit, then perhaps you should jump headfirst

out that window and have some sense knocked into you!"

 

Strider held his palms up in surrender. "I am sorry, Frodo.

I did not mean to laugh." His expression became sober.

"When is the last time you ate?"

 

"Truthfully, I do not remember," Frodo said with a sigh. 

"Butterbur sometimes forgot, but after a time, I did not

dare remind him."

 

"You dared to remind me," Strider said with a grim smile. 

"And I am apparently much crueler to you than Butterbur."

 

"Do not jest so," Frodo said. "I do not believe you will

strike me for asking about food."

 

"No," Strider said in a low voice.  "That I will not do.

Did Butterbur beat you often?"

 

"No," Frodo said, looking at his hands in shame. "For his

part, I believe Butterbur was quite fond of me in his own

way.  But he had a temper, and nothing angered him more

than dealing with a hobbit appetite when things were busy."

 

Strider nodded, and swallowed in distaste.  "Frodo, I will

fetch you something to eat, if you will promise me one

thing."

 

Frodo looked at him expectantly.

 

"Do not attempt to escape through the window, for if you

do, I guarantee you will hurt yourself badly enough to not

be able to go anywhere, and on top of that, I will be very

cross with you, and you will then be at the mercy of

whatever food I pick for you. Do you promise?"

 

Frodo could not help but smile. "Yes," he whispered. "I

promise."

 

Strider winked as he left the room, and Frodo found himself

looking after him in an amused daze.  He just could not

fathom this ranger of the wild who leaped from sardonic

teasing to gentle care to cold indifference.

 

 

 

*******

 

"I do hope you like mushrooms because it took me a long time  
to find a place that served hobbit food."

 

Frodo's eyes flew open at the sound of Strider's voice. He could  
not believe he had fallen asleep again! This time, it didn't take  
him so long to orient himself.

 

"Mushrooms?" Frodo said, and was surprised by how hoarse his  
voice was, but he smiled at Strider. “Of course, I adore  
mushrooms. I can smell them—how delightful! Oh, Strider, you  
need not be so kind to me as this.”

 

"Eat your fill and then I'm going to check you over."

 

The mushrooms were plump and juicy, cooked in butter and  
herbs, and while they were much blander than anything Bilbo had  
cooked, they hit the spot. Frodo had eaten nothing but bread and  
cheese while with Butterbur.

 

"While you're eating, I will tell you what is going on with your case."

 

Frodo stopped chewing. "My case?" he asked, puzzled. "What do  
you mean?"

 

"Bree does not love harlots right now and the penalties are very stiff."

 

Frodo's cheeks felt hot and his stomach dropped. "But I thought…well, I thought this is my punishment. You took me…I thought this  
is where I am locked up…" He swallowed several times, suddenly no longer hungry.

 

Strider looked pained as he sat on a stool next to Frodo's bed.

  
"Frodo," he said in a soft voice. "You are achingly innocent, despite all your…what you have done in Bree. It pains me greatly to have  
to tell you what you will face."

 

"I don't understand."

 

"The penalty is not jail time, which is fortunate for you, as I do not think they would allow me to keep you here indefinitely. They do not trust us rangers and you Shirefolk overly much."

 

Frodo swallowed. Not only had he no more appetite, but the  
mushrooms he had already eaten threatened to come up. He  
was certain that Strider would keep him for a few days, allow him to recover and then let him go home. "What is the penalty then?"

 

"Fifty lashes on a public platform."

 

Frodo's chest filled so that he could barely breathe. Even in  
Brandy Hall, nobody had punished him by hand. Old Farmer  
Maggot had given him a few blows when he was just a lad, but  
other than that, nothing like this. This was humiliating to the  
deepest core of his being. And that everyone in Bree could  
watch and jeer at him added salt to the wound.  
Butterbur would no doubt be in the front of the crowd.

 

"I spoke with the mayor of Bree," Strider continued. "I explained  
to him your circumstances, the best as I understand them." He sighed and scooted the stool closer to the bed. "I begged him to let you go, but he will not budge. He's heard a different version of the story…claims he's heard from several sources just how eager you were to make coins off the hard-working men of Bree, who were of course unable to resist such a beautiful Shire halfling who was all too willing.” Strider folded his arms and  
raised his eyebrows, though Frodo could see that the ranger was deeply troubled.

 

All the same, Frodo felt a deep burning in his chest, and his chest  
heaved in fury. "It is true, Strider, that…I took pleasure in some of it. It was all new to me, you see." He flushed. "I would be lying if I said  
that I despised all of it." He lifted his chin. "I have discovered that  
I much prefer the company of a good Man than a hobbit lass. But I  
have also discovered that there are more bad Men than good. Look  
at the brave mayor of Bree, who finds nothing amiss with beating on  
an already beaten hobbit. Look at Butterbur, who forced it out of me  
and then took almost everything. And do you think I liked the Man  
who did this?" He pointed to the bruising on his face. "Or this?" He  
jabbed his finger to his ribcage.

 

"Frodo, try to eat something more," Strider said, his gray eyes soft  
with concern. "I have convinced the mayor to let you recover a few  
more days."

 

"Take it back," Frodo said, pushing the nearly full plate of mushrooms  
to Strider. "Every kindness in this village has a price and I do not want  
to pay it anymore."

 

"No," Strider said, looking visibly shaken. "I will not do you harm—" He pushed the plate back onto Frodo's lap. "There is no price."

 

Frodo let out a scornful laugh. "Yet you would turn me over to those who would do me harm. How much did they pay you to arrest me?"

 

Strider stood up in a sudden fury that caused Frodo's heart to throb in alarm. "Is that the way you see it, Frodo? Have you lived such a soft life in the Shire that you think you should pay no price for your deeds? I should let you go merrily home to your soft life of filling your stomach  
and having tea and drinking ale and planting flowers and whatever else you hobbits do."

 

Frodo's cheeks turned hot. "It is not my fault that I was robbed."

 

Strider's voice was deadly. "But you could have made the choice not to do as you did. Butterbur did not force you to sell yourself until he discovered you doing it on your own."

 

"I should never have come to Bree," Frodo said, suddenly feeling far too weary to fight with Strider. "If Bilbo hadn't left-"

 

Strider froze, and Frodo saw the obvious glimmer of recognition in his eyes.

 

 

"You know Bilbo," Frodo whispered.  "How do you know him?"

 

"Bilbo Baggins?" Strider asked, causing Frodo's heart to leap again.  That he knew his last name. Of course, he was a ranger, wandered in the wild, it was possible that Bilbo could have met him. But that was impossible because Bilbo was very skilled at hiding when Big Folk were about and had taught Frodo well.

 

"Frodo, my lad," Frodo remembered him saying once not long before he had left.  "There've been more of the Big Folk seen in the Shire as of late, and I want you to take caution. I know how you like to wander about on your own and that's all fine and good.  Now, that's not to say all

Big People are dangerous, but they can be as different from each other as the Brandybucks can be from the Bagginses.

And just like hobbits, there are some that are good of heart and some that might not have good intentions.  But you're not going to know which is which when you first come upon one.  I know you're a curious lad and all, but always assume the latter.  You must always keep one thing in mind

\-- any Man you meet will be able to overpower you in seconds, so far better to mistrust undeserved than to have something dreadful happen to you. The good Men will understand if you flee without a proper good morning."

 

"Where did you see him?" Frodo asked. "Is he well?"

 

"Are you the young lad he adopted?"

 

Frodo's throat filled, and he stared at Strider, unable to believe that this stranger, this man who had imprisoned him and who openly scorned him, knew Bilbo, knew his history.

 

Frodo began to weep then, and he was deeply ashamed to do so in front of Strider. He covered his eyes, and everything came out—a deep shame of what he had sunk to, the look in

Bilbo's eyes when he found out about this, the time before this, when he had been a nice gentlehobbit, the coming public lashing, the scars that would mar his back and heart.

 

"Oh, no," Strider said softly. "I am sorry." He sat on the edge of the bed.

 

"Have you…have you seen…do you know if Bilbo is all right?"

Frodo managed. He had this strange feeling that he had already asked this question, but he didn't remember whether

Strider had answered.

 

"He's a dear friend," Strider said. "Elf friend, and he is safe in the House of Elrond in Rivendell right now."

 

Frodo's tears continued. "But if he saw me…saw what I am…the scars on my back from the lashing…"

 

"Frodo," Strider began.

 

"Leave me alone," Frodo said, covering his face. 

 

"I have no intention of turning you over to be lashed in public. I never had any intention to do that. I find this punishment cruel and uncivilized, and likely to kill one like you."

 

Frodo looked up, feeling weak with relief.

 

"Really?"

 

"Really." Strider smiled, and Frodo noticed how soft the normally grim face became.  Frodo no longer had a desire to bed Strider. He only felt warm and protected now.

 

"Come now, let us get you out of this filthy shirt."

 

"Yes," Frodo said, happy to rid himself of the shirt that had now led him to nothing but pain.

 

***

 

Vik stalked to the three men playing cards at the back of Butterbur's inn.  He recognized the fellow Will, and the sight of him sent a wave of fury from him. What kind of a coward brutalized a halfling?

 

"You." Vik clasped Will's shoulder. "Come along outside --

I need a word with you."

 

"Not so fast." Will pushed Vik's hand off his shoulder.

"Who are you and what do ya want?"

 

"I have something I gotta tell you that can't be heard in a public place." He winked. "Seeing your taste for halflings,

I think you'll like this."

 

Will looked at his friends and they laughed together.

 

"Too bad that piece of ass you had a few times got nailed by the ranger," one of Will's friends said regretfully. "I wouldn't have minded a taste."

 

"Probably dead by now, tis a pity," Will said. "Those rangers are mean folk."

 

"I got something better for you," Vik said, striving to keep his voice steady.  He saw Frodo's battered face in his mind, that beautiful skin marred by bruises, the sweetness in his eyes -- Vik had been able to see this under the surface of what Frodo had fallen to in Bree – beaten down.

 

Once outside the inn, Vik's hand gripped Will's neck before the drunk Man could step out of the way.

 

"You like to beat up halflings?"

 

"He sells his body for coins," Will gasped. "Of how much worth is he?"

 

"Of much worth to me," Vik said, squeezing Will's neck.

 

Vik did not kill Will, but it was close.  Will fought back, but Vik was a much stronger and trained fighter.  In minutes it was over, and Vik walked away deeply satisfied that he had thrown a punch for Frodo.

 

***

 

Strider poured water that he had just boiled into a small pan and brought it to the bedside table. Pieces of what looked like dried leaves, their scent so fragrant that

Frodo's sore breaths were eased, floated at the surface of the water.

 

Strider eased Frodo out of the silk shirt, holding it away from him like it was diseased.  Frodo's stomach sank and his cheeks burned in humiliation. Despite the ranger's kindness, he ultimately did think Frodo was dirty, and he was repulsed by him.

 

Strider turned to him suddenly, noticing his expression, and smiled gently.

 

"Do not be hurt by my wanting to destroy this shirt for all it represents, which is the defiling of a good hobbit.  Now let me have another look at your injuries.  The athelas should ease you greatly."

 

Frodo's felt warm inside when Strider had said what he did about the shirt.

 

"What is athelas?"

 

"It's a plant that helps with pain," Strider said. "Very precious."  He undid the binding he had already put around Frodo's chest.  He winced when he saw how dark and ugly the bruising had become.  His lips thinned in veiled fury. 

"You are lucky to be alive, after such blows."

 

"I've never faced such violence before," Frodo said, looking down at the bruising in new wonder.

 

"It seems hobbits are tougher than they look," Strider said. "But I hope you do not have to face more in that fashion again in your life.  Now close your eyes a moment.

This might throb somewhat."

 

Strider dipped a cloth in the pan and wrung out the water. 

He rubbed it tenderly over Frodo's abdomen. Frodo tensed, and Strider said, "Shhh! It's all right. It won't hurt but for a moment."

 

He was right.  Soon enough the pain eased, and Frodo felt a sweet calm consume him. He had not felt this good since he had left Hobbiton.

 

"This is wonderful," he said. He laughed a little, flushing in embarrassment. "I have to admit, Strider, that I enjoy your hands on me very much." He laughed when Strider fumbled with the cloth. "Though now I…now I am glad it is only in friendship."

 

Strider smiled. "That is good, Frodo.  Because while you are possibly the most beautiful of your kind I have ever seen…and achingly charming now that I have you away from that place, my heart belongs to another, one far away."

 

"You have a sweetheart!" Frodo smiled mischievously, trying to ease himself up onto his elbows.

 

"If you can call one of the first born by such a name,"

Strider said with a wistful smile.

 

A rough battering on the door caused Frodo to gasp and cover himself with the coverlet.  Strider drew his sword.

 

"Who is it?"

 

"Open up, Ranger. We come for the halfling."

 

Frodo whimpered and curled into a ball.  Surely Strider would not allow them to take him now. Not when he had finally begun to feel safe and wanted for something besides his body.

 

"We did not agree on this," Strider said, flinging open the door.  From over the top of the coverlet, Frodo could see four men in the brown garb over armor that Bree's lawmen wore.  "He was to have a few days recovery. He is badly injured."

 

"Mayor's changed his mind," the first man said, trying to catch a glimpse of Frodo.

 

"You will leave now," Strider said, moving toward the door in a threatening manner. "I will not turn him over to you.

Your punishment will kill him. Will you have that on your conscience?"

 

The man laughed, a cruel barking sound. "It's no matter what happens to a halfling harlot.  Though I'd not mind tasting him before they lash him."

 

Frodo's throat had filled with hurt as the men continued to hurl insults, and his chest filled with a great burning. 

He flung the coverlet off him and jumped to his feet. His ribs throbbed in protest, despite the athelas.

 

"Will you not leave me in peace?  All I want is to go home, to the Shire. I'll have naught more to do with your village. I'll not sully it ever again. Please…just let me go. I am not a threat to you or your village."

 

Strider turned to gaze at Frodo in wonder that he had spoken in such a brave manner against these men, and the three lawmen took advantage.  They rushed inside the room, two of them wrestling the sword out of Aragorn's hand.  This could not have happened if Aragorn had not been caught off guard, of course, but he had, and he desperately fought his attackers with his bare fists.  The third man yanked

Frodo's arms behind him, binding his hands again, just as

Aragorn had earlier. There was no way that Aragorn could fight four men by hand, amazing fighter as he was. A hard blow knocked into the side of Aragorn's head, and the ranger collapsed, hitting the ground with a terrible sound.

 

Frodo cried out in horror that his friend had been hurt, but the men arresting him took it to mean desperation that his champion could no longer defend him.

 

"Them's the breaks, halfling," the man holding him said with a cruel chuckle. 

 

***

 

Frodo stood on the platform, his hands still bound.  He still wore no shirt, since Strider had not had time to give him the new shirt.  At least there was not a huge crowd watching, as he had imagined, but a few people milled with morbid curiosity.  Most did not jeer but watched, occasionally uttering comments under their breath that carried in the ominous silence.

 

"Beautiful little thing…too bad…I'd take him."

 

"Poor dear, just a young thing…Shire?…going to kill him likely."

 

The Man with the whip hulked over him.  "Kneel down."

 

Frodo dropped to his knees on the platform. His vision blurred with tears. So this is what it had come to.  A simple desire to find Bilbo had led to this humiliation. 

 

He blinked, his heart jolting. He was certain he saw Vik looking from around the corner of an alley. Or at least he thought he saw sandy curls, and a square jaw.  So, he had come to jeer as well? Or was he just going to wait until

Frodo was broken and bleeding, near death, and then apologize for not taking him away? After all, he had no further obligation if Frodo died.

 

The Man with the whip whispered in his ear, "I ain't gonna hit you as hard as I'm supposed to."

 

Frodo didn't answer him. What did it matter? Fifty lashes was still fifty lashes.  He felt weak and shaky, certain he would be unable to endure five, much less fifty.

 

And what about Strider? He had seen how hard the Ranger had hit the floor. Blows to the head could be deadly, and Frodo groaned.  The very thought that he may have inadvertently led to Strider's death caused a cold hitch in his stomach.

 

He glanced at the alley where he had thought he had seen

  

  1. Perhaps he had only imagined it. Why would Vik want anything more to do with him?   
  



Frodo had even told him he would rather go to jail than go with him. Vik had not known him before he had been selling himself for coins, didn't know anything about him.  To him,

Frodo was just a little harlot in a bit of trouble, hardly worth the effort to save.

 

"Oh, Bilbo," Frodo whispered through his cracked lips.

 

"All right, halfling," the Man with the whip said, standing. "I've got to start."

 

Frodo sensed heavy reluctance in his voice, could tell that he did not want to do this. Perhaps that would be the only thing that would save him.  The Man lifted the whip, and

Frodo squeezed his eyes shut. He would not scream, would not let them see him in pain.

 

A burning blow knocked the breath from him, ripped an agonized yelp from his lips, knocked him to his side, rendering him helpless to move since his hands were still bound.  The pain scalded his back, worse than anything he had endured. Just one blow had done this. Just one blow.

How could he endure 49 more? He would not yell anymore, though. The first had taken him by surprise, but now he knew what to expect. He would think about something pleasant. He tried to imagine the elves, as Bilbo had described them.  They spoke in musical voices, and an ethereal glow seemed to come off their skin.

 

"I'm sorry," the Man with the whip said, his eyes full of compassion.  Then he looked out the crowd where he locked eyes with a Man with cold, dark eyes. This Man was well-dressed, and his face looked impassive, though there was a slight sneer of disgust as he looked upon the battered hobbit on the platform.

 

"Sir Mayor," the Man with the whip said. "I cannot do this with good conscience. I am no executioner. It is like hurting a child--"

 

The cold Man stepped forward, right in front of the platform, until he was nearly face to face with Frodo. 

"Believe me, this harlot is no child.  If you cannot do it,

Burny, I will."

 

There was a loud thud and cry behind Frodo, and he rolled out of the way, his heart pounding.  He looked up and met

Vik's eyes, which were bright with fury.

 

In seconds, Vik had wrestled the whip from Burny's hand.

The mayor scrambled on the platform, his sword drawn, but

Vik was too quick. He knocked the mayor from the platform with one fierce kick and a harsh warning.  "Leave us."

 

Several lawmen, some of the same who had arrested Frodo, jumped on the platform.  Frodo yanked at his binds, though even if it were possible to break free, he was not sure what he could do.  Vik would surely be overpowered in seconds.

 

Strider jumped up on the platform from behind. Frodo gasped in delight. He was alive—and well enough to fight with incredible ferocity.

 

Between Vik and Strider, the lawmen were knocked senseless or wounded within minutes.

 

Strider nodded to Vik. "Get out of here. Is your horse ready?"

 

Vik nodded and ran to Frodo.  With one flick of his sword, he freed Frodo's binds.  He lifted Frodo over his shoulder.  The pain on his back burned and festered like hundreds of insect stings.

 

"Hold on, Frodo," Vik said.  He ran to the alley that Frodo had been sure he had seen him earlier.  At the end of the alley, a horse was tethered to a fence.  Vik effortlessly twisted Frodo off his shoulder and onto the back of the horse. Vik leaped on the horse behind him and kicked him into action.  The horse galloped out of the village of

Bree, leaving dust in its wake.

 

After the initial exhilaration of being rescued and leaving

Bree behind, Frodo's back began to throb and burn so badly that his breaths came out in harsh gasps. He shivered from the cold.

 

"Hold on, Frodo," Vik whispered, trying to shield the hobbit with his cloak.  "Coming up is a stream and I can bathe your hurts there. I know it must hurt. I was lashed once as a young man. I know how it hurts."

 

"Where…are you…taking me?" Frodo's voice was hoarse and trembling.  The shock over how quickly things had happened still shuddered through him.

 

"Out of Bree. When we stop, we can decide what we want to do. If you want me to take you home, I will.  If you want…"

Vik swallowed.  "If you want to come with me to Thruswood, then I would be honored. You are free now."

 

Frodo smiled, turning around just enough to make sure Vik saw.  "Vik, thank you."

 

"The pleasure is mine."

 

They stopped at the stream, and Vik gently lifted Frodo off the horse, having a care not to put too much pressure on the lash wound.  Once on the ground, Frodo's legs wobbled, and he collapsed into Vik's arms.  Vik carried him to the edge of the stream and set him down, helping him to rest on his belly on the soft grass.  Vik knelt before him, studying the wounds on Frodo, his green eyes darkening with grief.

 

"I cannot believe anyone would lay hands on you." He stroked Frodo's face gently, shaking his head at the swollen skin around his eye.  He abruptly turned away, making for the stream.  He pulled from his pack a cloth. Frodo could not imagine what he used it for normally—perhaps to clean himself while traveling.  At any rate, it looked clean.  Vik dipped it in the water and wrung it out before crawling back to Frodo.

 

"This might sting a little. Just try to hold on, for I have an ointment that will numb it for a time and binding to protect it. Alas I do not have a shirt that will fit you, but you will have to wear one of mine, oversized though it will be for it does get chilly at night and I will not have you catch your death of cold."

 

Frodo smiled gratefully. "Are you a healer?"

 

"No," Vik said with a return smile.  "But I am dear friends with the local healer in Thrushwood and he gives me supplies before I go on my trips."

 

Vik rubbed the cloth over the lash mark, and Frodo squeezed his eyes shut, breathing in through his teeth, determined not to cry out. It stung. It hurt. It throbbed.  He was not sure how much more he could take before he would start yelling.

 

"I am sorry," Vik said. "Almost done."

 

Finally he drew the cloth away, and Frodo was sickened to see his own blood on it. Vik set it aside and unscrewed the cap of a small amber-colored bottle.  He squirted a thick liquid onto his palm.

 

"'Tis a balm for hurts such as these," Vik said. "Do not fear. You'll not feel much."

 

Frodo's throat filled with contentment.  How had he gotten so lucky to have fallen into the arms of such wonderful Men as Strider and Vik?  A thrill shuddered through him as it fully hit him that Vik had asked if he would like to come to Thrushwood. He had not changed his mind. For whatever reason, Vik had become intrigued by him and had not been put off by his activities at Butterbur's inn.

 

Vik could now be his in truth – and with no price.

 

Vik crouched behind Frodo and massaged the balm onto Frodo's back.  The cool liquid eased the pain caused by the lash, and soon the throbbing faded into irritating pinpricks.

 

"Vik, I do want to come with you to Thrushwood."

 

Vik's face was eager, and he strove to control his excitement.  "Truly?"

 

"Truly," Frodo said, smiling. "But—"

 

Vik's face fell slightly at that last, and he hastily added, "Please do not feel you must, Frodo. I do not want you even for an instant to feel like you must just because

I saved you."

 

"No, I…I have nothing now that Bilbo left." Vik began to massage Frodo's shoulders, and Frodo blushed as he continued talking. "Well, not nothing. I have Bag End, and my friends and Sam.  But Vik…This may sound silly but I must go home first…if only to settle my affairs and get some clothes—I'll burn these I'm wearing, you know—and others."

 

"I will take you home, Frodo. I will be happy to do so." 

 

Frodo eased up from his belly until he was kneeling.  He

shrugged, but he still felt very little pain.  Vik crawled

in front of him.

 

"Will you allow me to kiss you?"

 

"Yes," Frodo said, his heart thudding pleasantly. He leaned

forward, and Vik put gentle hands on his shoulders, trying

not to disturb any hurts.  Vik leaned into Frodo and

captured Frodo's lips with the utmost tenderness.  Frodo

gasped and parted his lips, closing his eyes.  How long had

he longed for such a tender display of love. 

 

 

COMPLETED my first trash!fic—squee!!

 

 

*******

 

 

Frodo Baggins

C/O

Vik the Lawman

Thrushwood

 

Dear Master Baggins:

 

 

Just a quick note to let you know that I have been thinking

about you with fondness.  I hope you are enjoying your stay

in Thrushwood and that Vik is doing well, too.

 

I received your message of thanks only this week. As you

may have found, I am difficult to track down.  Tis the

nature of my life, I am afraid. It warmed my heart to hear

from you, but the only thanks I need is to know that you

are now safe and that you avoided severe injury.

 

Not long after you and Vik left Bree, a dear friend of

mine, one who is dear to you, Frodo -- a wizard by the name

of Gandalf, showed up.  I told him what had happened. Do

not fear, I did not tell him about why you were in trouble.

His ire was quite frightening, even to a hardened Ranger. 

He had once considered Butterbur a dear friend, you see,

and now he had come to discover that through Butterbur's

careless and rather cruel actions, the very best hobbit in

the Shire was nearly killed.  Gandalf is subtle, and he

rarely uses his magic in ways that the mortal folk of

Middle earth can see.  But Butterbur will have more

difficulty than ever running his business, and the foul

folk of Bree will need to find another watering hole.  You

see, Gandalf knew the only way to hurt Butterbur was

through his coins, and he has flattened Butterbur's ale for

the next five years. 

 

As for the Mayor, he has been ousted from his office and

chased out like a dog into the wild. Enough decent folk

were disturbed by the harsh punishment he had planned for

you, and believe me, Frodo, you pulled the heart strings of

some important Bree folk. They can stand it if a harlot is

thrown in jail for a night, but they don't like public

lashings unless the criminal is dangerous. And you being so

little and sweet-looking was definitely in your favor, as

well as some talk that's come out that Butterbur was

forcing you against your will to do as you did.

 

The man who refused to whip you has quit his job and

started a tailor business, and it seems to be flourishing

with both Men and Hobbits. I won't say Gandalf had naught

to do with that, either, as he heard about the man's

attempted kindness toward you.

 

I may come by Thrushwood one of these days.  Expect me when

you least expect me, as Gandalf often says.

 

Bilbo sends his regards. He is doing well.

 

Yours fondly,

Strider

 


End file.
